PotO: ANOTHER VOICE
by JadeiteFVR23
Summary: Mysteriously reborn in the present, Erik struggles to fit in. Helping him, there are a familiar looking guard and a cheeky young soprano of the Paris Opera who turns out to be the great-great-granddaughter of someone he used to know. Humor, romance, drama and a horde of squealing phangirls! NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1 - A brave new world

**A/N:** Hello dear readers! I got hit by this major plot bunny and couldn't help myself.

It started with some research I was doing for a totally different purpose, during which I came upon an article about Palais Garnier in relation to Leroux' book. There was a bit that said that everytime something strange happens the workers there like to joke it's Erik, or rather his ghost. Then I thought, what if they weren't joking and there really was his ghost roaming around the Paris Opera House?

And so I thought up a phantom story where Palais Garnier would be exactly the way it is today, with fish and the firemen swimming in the underground lake, with the library and the restaurant, with actual professional singers and ballet dancers, with the tourists and the phans! And in all of that, I wanted there to be Erik, the real one that presumably existed at some point in history and really tampered with that chandelier in 1898.

Unfortunately, I got no beta, but I got Grammarly. Hope it helps, at least with the typos.

 **Comicbook:** I lately had the idea to make an online comic/graphic novel version of the fanfic once I'm done with writing this. Will link to it in the last chapter when I set up the website etc. **For now, feel free to enjoy some concept art, sketches, designs and such on my Tumblr account: jadeite-art . tumblr .com**

 **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction based on the "Phantom of the Opera" novel by Gaston Leroux. It's set in the world we live it, therefore there are mentions of other phantom related works, all of which belong to their respective owners. Also, all opera, musical or song lyrics quoted in the story are the property of their respective owners and are used on the premise that the characters perform these pieces in the story.

* * *

 **ANOTHER VOICE**

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

The diva sang.

 _"Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir, Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir, Est-ce toi, Marguerite, est-ce toi?"_

Her voice carried across the Opera House where the phantom had been trapped, hovering between life and death. Anchored to the world by grief and anguish, he was forced to wander the familiar corridors of Palais Garnier for eternity. He didn't know how many years had passed. In the limbo time ceased to exist. Days and nights went by, indistinct until the sound of a crystal clear soprano broke the tedium.

 _"Réponds-moi, réponds-moi, Réponds, réponds, réponds vite!"_

The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere and it sipped into the deepest corners of his rotten soul, calling it back to life.

 _"Non! Non! ce n'est plus toi! Non...non, ce n'est plus ton visage, C'est la fille d'un roi..."_

His heartbeat and for the shortest moment the world around him snapped into focus before fading again into an indistinct blur of colors, smells and sounds.

 _"Ce n'est plus toi, Q"u'on salut au passage! Ah s'il était ici! S'il me voyait ainsi! Comme une demoiselle! Il me trouverait belle, Ah! Comme une demoiselle, Il me trouverait belle!"_

The diva called him like a siren and his heartbeat, again and again, pumping hot blood into his numb limbs.

 _"Achevons la métamorphose, Il me tarde encor d'essayer, Le bracelet it le collier!"_

Every cell of his body felt on fire. He screamed in agony but no sound came out of his mouth.

 _"Dieu! c'est comme une main, Qui sur mon bras se pose! ah! ah!Ah! je ris de me voir si belle dans ce miroir!"_

The song began to fade as he fell into the abyss. The last words were just above a whisper and then silence reigned.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1 - A BRAVE NEW WORLD**

* * *

Erik woke up to the sound of flowing water. Getting up, he scanned his surroundings. He sat on a small platform at the shore of a still lake that stretched far into the darkness underneath a starless firmament of chiseled stone. In an instant he understood: he was in the cellars of Palais Garnier.

Approaching the familiar stone wall, he activated the mechanism that opened the hidden door and entered his house to find it dusty and smelling of damp as if it had stood abandoned for a very long time. Wallpaper peeled off the walls and his Persian rugs and blankets showed signs of being ravished by rats. He eventually found his way into the torture chamber which remained mostly unscathed, save for some silver peeling of the mirrors.

Standing in the middle of the room he undressed naked and examined the closest of his infinite reflections. A familiar death's face stared back at him from the mirror but something felt different. His skin appeared tighter and smoother than he remembered and underneath he could clearly see a thin layer of muscle, making him look a little bit less cadaverous. His hair was still firmly attached to his scalp and flicking his tongue around his mouth, he discovered a full set of teeth. His features might have been as hideous as always but there was no denying that somehow his body had returned to its former youth.

It couldn't have been a journey back in time as at this age he wouldn't be at the Opera, more so, Palais Garnier wouldn't even exist yet. What was it then?

A faint echo of the Jewel Song resounded at the back of his skull and his mind immediately went to Christine. Was he being given a second chance? Could it be that if he were younger she might have wanted to stay with him?

Hopeful, he went looking for a mask and some fresh clothes. Finding them he considered wearing his old full-face black leather mask but eventually decided against it, choosing one he used to wear in his youth and which he still kept as a souvenir of the good old days.

A couple hours later, cleaned and groomed he rowed his boat across the vast expanse of the underground lake. The farther he went, the lighter it became due to the lanterns fixed in the walls that illuminated the once dark cellars.

What the hell had they done to his dominion, he thought as he stalled near a pillar, momentarily blinded.

Once his pupils adjusted to the blaring white light, he resumed rowing until he reached the opposite bank of the lake, where he masterfully hid his boat and scurried away towards the secret passage behind Christine's dressing room. Eventually, he reached the familiar paneled corridor and peered through the mirror to the other side. A young woman was just leaving the room but it wasn't Christine, he was certain of it. When the woman was gone, he silently crept outside.

It was still daytime and the theater was bursting with life. Skulking around, Erik couldn't help but notice how strangely the people dressed. He didn't linger too much on the subject though, as his attention was quickly caught by some sort of commotion going on around the stage.

Picking up bits and pieces of the conversations, he discovered the management had some problems with the upcoming production. It would seem that their diva was constantly indisposed and unfortunately enough her understudy had broken a leg. Wasn't that just the perfect opportunity to have Christine sing the lead?

A plan already forming in his mind, he picked up his search for the girl. He had wandered far from the stage when he heard voices. Peeking into a room through a half-closed door, he saw a couple of very young ballerinas, chatting merrily. One of them, a pale blonde, showed something to her brunette friend.

"Omg Chris, he's a total cutie," exclaimed the other girl with a giggle.

The blonde turned her head a little and Erik's breath caught up in his throat. It was Christine! Well, not exactly. The girl was a good few years too young and her friend called her Chris and not Christine, but it could've just been an endearment. Other than that the resemblance was remarkable, down to beauty spot under the girl's left eye. It was Christine! It had to be!

Meanwhile, the blonde was telling her friend, "He says he's an aristocrat because his great great great something grandpa was a count or something like that. He's nineteen and his name's Philippe," she finished dreamily.

Wasn't it supposed to be Raoul? Well, one fop was worth another. At least they didn't seem to be married yet. In fact, it appeared that the two of them had barely just met.

"He asked me out this Friday," she continued her blabbering. "Omg Meg, I so hope he kisses me."

Meg? As in little Meg Giry? So she and Christine were friends now, were more or less the same age and they were both ballet dancers? It all felt as if he ended up in one of those "spot the ten differences" games. He might need to rethink his plans, he decided and scurried to box five from where he could later take a shortcut to his lair.

Fortunately, the box was still in its rightful place and looking just as ordinary as ever, save for a badge on the door that read " Le loge du Fantôme de l'Opéra ". Using his master key which he kept on himself at all times, Erik snuck inside and took a moment to listen to the music that was being performed on stage. At one point, his ears picked up another sound, a kind of muffled roar. It was growing closer and closer until he heard it right behind the door.

There was a click, and a middle-aged woman armed with some sort of howling machine burst in.

"Ah! Bonjour Monsieur Erik." She didn't seem at all perturbed by his presence there. "Listening to the rehearsals?" she chirped in a chatty tone. "They're doing your favorite "Faust" tonight."

Dumbstruck, Erik growled, "You know my name? And my favorite opera?"

The woman didn't even budge. "Of course I know it. Everyone does," she said matter of factly as she kept on doing whatever it was she did with that monstrous machine of hers. "It's all in the book Monsieur le Fantôme, it's all in the book."

What book?!

"Now, be so kind and move aside." She actually took him by the elbow and dragged him out of his seat. "I need to vacuum there too. You wouldn't want to sit in all this dust during tonight's gala, would you?"

Deeply offended by such indignant treatment, Erik retracted into the corridor. He hasn't made more than a dozen steps when he heard something between a gasp and a shriek come from somewhere around his midsection. Looking down, he saw a girl about half his height, gaping at him unceremoniously.

"Close your mouth before you catch some flies in," he snorted, expecting she'd at least have the decency to be intimidated.

She didn't.

"Oh Erik!" she squealed, wrapping her arms around his waist since that was the highest she could possibly reach. "I knew you were still alive!"

He was so frozen in shock he didn't even try to get away.

"I don't care about your distorted face," she promised. "I understand what you feel because I'm disfigured too." She pointed out to some really ugly acne scars marking her cheeks. "I love you!" she cried and that finally snapped Erik out of his stunned trance.

"W- What?" he stuttered. All he'd ever wished for was to be loved but not necessarily by some random lunatic teenager with acne.

"I love you, Erik," the girl repeated solemnly. "Please, be my Angel of Music!" Then she began to sing, " Angel of Music guide and guardian, grant me all your glory, " and she sang so badly that Erik wanted to cut his ears off. Or her tongue.

He'd never physically harmed a child in his life, let alone a female child, and he didn't intend to start now, albeit the temptation was strong, so he just disentangled himself from the girl's embrace and made a run for it.

The teen followed, not at all discouraged by his evident rejection of her advances. "Erik!" she shouted as she ran after him on her half shorter and skinnier little legs. "Please wait!"

As they passed by the boxes the cleaning lady turned up again. Quickly assessing the situation, she let go of her vacuum and joined in the chase.

"Hey you little brat!" she shouted, trying to grab the girl by the hood. "Come back here! That's a restricted zone!"

"I must find Erik!" the girl yelled back.

"Oh goodness!" fumed the cleaning lady. "You crazy phans leave him alone!"

In that moment Erik actually felt a bit of sympathy for the woman. Perhaps he should consider making a closer acquaintance of her. She could turn up to be a valid ally.

"Guard! We've got another one!" he heard her shout as he burst back into the backstage area and shuffled through the crowd of people and props, not caring whether anyone saw him or not. He just wanted to get out of there. Distracted, he didn't notice when he accidentally bumped into someone. His mask wavered dangerously but he managed to keep in in place.

"Watch it Erik," huffed the man he'd collided with. "We've got enough on our heads as it is even without you lurking around and causing trouble." And with that, he just passed him by and went about his business.

Erik followed him with wide eyes. That man too, whoever he was, not only seemed to know him personally, he had also treated him, the Opera Ghost, like some pesky child!

His initial puzzlement with the bizarre surroundings was slowly turning to rage as he stalked back to where he'd come from. He almost reached the dressing room when he saw another familiar face. Coming from the other end of the corridor there was la Carlotta. She too dressed in the strangest fashion in something black that clung to her every curve like a second skin but there was no doubt it was her. He recognized the lips, the eyes, the hair.

"You!" he fumed. "What are you still doing at my Opera House?"

She didn't even budge, just stood there gaping at him like an idiot. He came at her like a ball of fury, but only when he was no more than a few feet away her calm expression changed, as if she'd suddenly been struck by some sort of realization, and for a moment he saw fear in her eyes before it turned to resolve. In a leap she was beside him and grabbing at the lapels of his suit, she dragged him down and kissed him hard on the mouth.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. His brain went into a short circuit and after the tiniest moment of stupor he held her tight and kissed her back with all his might. His heart beat faster and the blood rushing through his veins filled his whole body with an unknown sensation of warmth.

Pushing Carlotta away he jumped back as if she burned. "What in Faust's name have you done to me?!" he panted, short of breath.

The girl looked him in the eye even more resolute than before. "Getting a little excited Monsieur le Fantôme?" she mocked.

That was it! He was going to strangle her with her own hair right where she stood!

"What in the world is going on here?! Mademoiselle, are you all right?" an aggravated voice spoke from behind his back.

He turned and felt once more as if someone hit him in the face with a brick. "Daroga?!" he exclaimed blinking at the dark-skinned man in front of him.

Daroga seemed just as perplexed to see him. "Erik? You look so..." he inspected him all over, "alive."

"Watch it Monsieur Daroga," Carlotta cried, "he's not our resident ghost. I think it's some crazy guy who just dressed up as Erik."

"He looks exactly like him," Daroga observed, checking him out, "glowing eyes and all."

"I assure you, he's a real living person."

Daroga extended his hand to check for himself, the Disbelieving Thomas he was. With him on one side and crazed up Carlotta on the other Erik felt like a trapped animal. The dressing room was out of the question as an escape route but on the stage there should be a trap door he could use. Without warning he skid by the Daroga and sped towards the stage, carelessly breaking in between the small crowd of performers that blocked his way.

"Damn it, Erik!" someone shouted.

"Quit the shit!" another voice added.

"We're trying to rehearse here!"

"Bloody Opera Ghost!"

His head exploded as he drowned in that cacophony of angry curses and annoyed shouts. The need to just escape from there, from that world of utter madness, surged within him even stronger. In a flash, he activated the trapdoor mechanism, which thankfully was still in place, and disappeared into the darkness below.

In spite of everything that happened, Erik later returned above ground to attend to "Faust". He expected to see la Carlotta sing the lead, thinking she was the fickle diva everyone talked about, but instead it turned out to be a rather plump red-haired woman called la Debonnaire. He eventually spotted the insufferable soprano in the back, singing the chorus, and his fingers inadvertently moved to his lips.

* * *

 **Next chapter: While Erik tries to figure out what the hell had just happened Carlotta decides it's about time she found out more about their resident ghost.**

 **Is it a coincidence that she resembles La Carlotta from Erik's time?**

 **What about Daroga who seems to be the speaking image of the Persian?**


	2. Chapter 2 - Forced alliance

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Forced alliance**

* * *

Carlotta was singing her part with her heart in her throat. Never before had she been so nervous about a performance but never before had she been in a situation like this.

She had known there was something strange going on in Palais Garnier since she had first arrived there. There was a shadow moving across the House. No one seemed to give it notice and she began to wonder whether she might be seeing things until one day she managed to snap a picture of the man. It didn't really show much: just a blurry form vanishing in a dark corner, but it was all the proof she needed.

"Excuse moi Monsieur," she approached a guard, "I believe there may be someone unauthorized running around the Opera House."

The man rose a brow. He was a well built middle eastern looking gal everyone at the Opera called Daroga.

"Mademoiselle Giudicelli," he said in a patronizing tone, "we have plenty of unauthorized people running around our Opera on a daily basis. I already dragged three singing girls out of box five today."

"I'm being serious," she insisted and showed Daroga the photo.

"Oh," the guard shrugged his shoulders, "that probably was just Erik."

"You know this guy?"

"Don't you know him?"

Carlotta shook her head, clueless.

"You have really never heard about the Phantom of the Opera?"

Wasn't that a musical? She vaguely recalled her aunt Luisa telling her about seeing that in London a few years ago. It was about a disfigured musician that fell for an opera singer or something like that.

"Everyone at Palais Garnier knows the story," the man continued. "In fact, that's why they nicknamed me, the Commander in Chief Guard, Daroga." He patted her on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't be too afraid of Erik, cherie. He still occasionally pulls a little prank, but he can't harm anyone. After all, he now really is just a ghost."

"A ghost?"

"I recommend that you make yourself acquainted with the story. Things will make more sense then."

Yeah, she supposed she'd google it when she got home.

She didn't google it. At least not that evening. After a full day of rehearsals and fittings for the fast approaching gala, she was so exhausted that when she came back home she just took a quick shower and tumbled into bed. The next morning she'd already forgotten about the entire thing and just focused on her daily routines, until the ghost reminded her of his presence once more.

She was staying in late, practicing with some help from Maestro Flaubert, when he appeared on stage, only a dozen meters away from her.

The song died on her lips. The maestro stopped playing and turned around to see what had unnerved her.

"Goodness, Erik!" he fussed. "We're trying to rehearse here!

Carlotta took a frightened step back, her mind fixed on the ghost. His black-clad silhouette was out of focus as if she were looking at it through dirty glasses, and as he approached it seemed to shimmer and shake like an old movie frame. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed at her neck but the moment his fingers touched her skin he dissolved into thin air right before her eyes.

"He can't touch anyone," the maestro explained. "You'll get used to him with time, as we all did."

Carlotta gave the man a disbelieving glare.

Flaubert just shrugged his shoulders. "So, from the beginning of the aria Mademoiselle?"

Carlotta nodded and clearing her throat, she began to sing.

She hadn't seen the ghost until the afternoon of the next day. Coming across him in a corridor, she told herself that it was just an apparition, that it couldn't really hurt her and kept her cool. Then her brain registered that he neither shimmered nor shook. She could see his imposing silhouette as sharp as anything else and understood that she wasn't dealing with a phantom anymore but an actual person.

person.

It was then, in that short moment of panicked frenzy, that she came up with probably the most idiotic idea ever: she'd kiss him and when he'd go rigid in surprise she'd kick him in the groin and run for her life. There was only one minor fault in her plan. She hadn't calculated that he might kiss her back. Then she even dared to tease him about it. It could've all ended real bad if Daroga hadn't made an appearance.

Erik seemed to recognize him, and to think of it, he seemed to recognize her as well. The other day the guard had told her he'd been nicknamed after a character in a book and that she was in that book as well. Who knew, perhaps she even resembled the character physically?

If that lunatic was convinced for whatever reason that he was Erik, he might've also thought that she and the guard were their respective counterparts. Worse than that, he might want to follow in the phantom's footsteps and as far as she remembered that involved kidnapping sopranos and crashing chandeliers.

Luckily, the gala went on without any disruption. Even la Debonnaire made it to the very end neither fainting nor puking, and everyone could finally let go of the tension that had been building up for days.

All the performers and stage adepts had the next day off and Carlotta decided she'd use her free time to finally educate herself on the phantom matter. Getting herself some coffee and croissants, she powered up her Macbook and googled ' phantom of the opera' .

It was indeed a musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber, the same one aunt Luisa had seen in London. The first link took her to its official page but there was nothing there that could be of help, just info on theaters, tickets and some photos from the various stage productions. The second link led to a Youtube video: a clip from what appeared to be a modern movie adaptation. Finding a streaming link, she got herself comfortable on the couch and played the movie. Two or so hours later she was a little bit wiser than before.

First of all, the name of the girl the phantom fell for wasn't Carlotta but Christine. There was, however, a primadonna called Carlotta Giudicelli but she looked more like la Debonnaire rather than her, and she and the phantom were no friends. There were also other details that got Carlotta thinking, like the Daroga, for example. There was absolutely no Daroga in the movie. The phantom too wasn't much like the man that roamed around Palais Garnier. Sure, it was just an actor, but still, something felt awfully off. Not to mention the name Erik hadn't been spoken once, but everyone at the Opera House knew Erik's name so they must have known it from somewhere.

Then she remembered: there was a book! Yes, Daroga told her he'd been nicknamed after a character in a book!

She quickly ran another google search and this time got some truly enlightening results.

There was indeed a book, or should she say books, but the first one, written by a certain Gaston Leroux was probably The Book. Reading the synopsis, she felt she hit the jackpot. The plot was set at the actual Palais Garnier, around the time of a chandelier accident that apparently really happened in 1896. According to Leroux, it had been the work of a man who lived underneath the Opera House and whose name was, in fact, Erik. He claimed that he wasn't just a fixture of his imagination but an actual person, one of Garnier's architects that, having built himself a house at the shore of the underground lake, took refuge there. His description of him though was so over the top that it was no wonder that nobody took him too seriously. Various details of the story, including events order and characters appearance, were considerably different compared to the musical. For starters, la Carlotta wasn't portrayed so comically. Actually, she was barely mentioned. She was also Spanish and not Italian.

Carlotta's great-great-grandma was Spanish and she was also an opera singer. Could she have been the diva of the story? Her family always told her that she resembled her famous namesake quite a lot. It would explain why that lunatic got confused. That raised another question though. In order to mismatch them, he must have known the original la Carlotta, and not just from a book, he must've known her personally. That would imply that he was indeed Erik the Opera Ghost but that was impossible or wasn't it?

He had acted very disoriented the other day, she thought as she later sank into a soothing warm bath, a glass of wine in hand. Perhaps he didn't realize how much time had passed since he had died because he had died, she was pretty certain of it. How he ended up alive again was another matter.

She decided she had to find a way to talk to him, to explain to him that this wasn't the world he used to know. In the story, the phantom and the managers communicated through notes. Perhaps she could follow that example.

After hours and hours of scrap writing, she eventually came up with something up to the point but explanatory enough for her satisfaction.

Dear Erik,

first of all, sorry for smooching you. That was plain stupid of me.

You may find it hard to believe but I'm not the Carlotta you used to know. A descendant perhaps but not actually HER. We are currently in the year 2017, which means that all the people you ever knew are long dead and so are you.

The Opera staff seems to be quite fond of you - in spite of what the book says about you - and as far as I noticed you used to live in relative peace up until now. I only hope it can remain so.

Yours truly,

Carlotta Giudicelli

Addressing the note to OG, Carlotta took it with her when she went back to the Opera the next day. Unsure how to deliver it, she left it on her vanity for the time being, but when she later returned to the dressing room the note was gone.

Suddenly she felt a presence right behind her back and spinning around, she found herself face to face with Erik who skillfully maneuvered her into a corner, trapping her between the walls and his own body.

God, did the man have the scariest eyes! They were a shade between hazel and green and the pupils, dilated in the twilight of the dressing room, glowed an eerie yellow. It was a common effect in nocturnal animals like cats or wolves, caused by a reflective layer placed at the bottom of the retina, but she'd never seen anything like this on a human. He would've had to have been kept in absolute darkness for years and from a very early age, perhaps even since birth, in order to develop such an unusual mutation. She thought of what Kay had written about Erik's presumed childhood, that his mother, ashamed of him, kept him in the house at all times. What if it wasn't just in the house? What if she confined him to a single room, a cellar or perhaps a very dark closet?

Waving the note before her nose Erik demanded, "What in the world is this supposed to mean?!"

"In case you haven't realized it yet," she said, regaining her composure, "we currently are way past the 2000s. From what I learned so far, it would appear that after you died sometime in late 19th or perhaps at the beginning of 20th century, you stayed at the Opera House as an actual ghost. That was until a few days ago when you just showed up like…" she gestured to indicate his current, very much alive state, "like this."

Erik only squinted his eyes suspiciously.

"You don't remember anything, do you?" Carlotta inquired.

"I remember being old and in terrible pain until suddenly it all just ended. Then I woke up in this place."

"In this time," she corrected. "You never put a foot out of Palais Garnier."

"How is this possible?" he murmured.

"I don't know," Carlotta replied even if she wasn't sure whether he was asking her or just talking to himself. "A couple weeks ago I didn't even know you existed."

He gave her a strange look. "You're not la Carlotta?"

She shook her head. "Nope."

"You look a lot like her," he observed, checking her out and she flushed under his scrutinizing gaze, suddenly feeling utterly inadequate. "Perhaps you're just a little slimmer."

"I could be related to her," Carlotta reminded, pointing to the note. "My great-great-grandma was an opera singer here in Paris and her name was Carlotta. I've been named after her. She later married an Italian officer, Enrico Giudicelli, and the family moved to Italy sometime after World War II. I was born in Milan in 1989.

"World War II?" he asked, confused.

"A lot of things happened while you were dead," she explained. "There first was World War I, then World War II and the beginning of the Nuclear Era and then the Cold War. But there were also some good stuff going on like the discovery of penicillin and the landing on moon and the digital revolution and-"

"Stop it" he didn't let her finish. It just felt like too much information spoken at once.

He took another look at her note and read, " ...in spite of what the book says about you... " He gave her a hard stare. "What book?" It was already the second time he heard about it.

"There's a novel about you written by a guy named Gaston Leroux."

"Leroux?!"

He remembered that nosy reporter rummaging around his Opera House and asking way too many questions for his taste!

"I can show you his picture," Carlotta slipped out of his grasp and searched her bag until she came up with some device that looked like a flat tablet with a luminescent screen on one side. "Here," she showed him a photo on the screen.

Yeah, that was indeed Leroux.

"I'll kill him!" he fumed.

"I'm afraid he's already been dead for quite some time," Carlotta said matter of factly, putting the device away.

"What was that thing?" Erik asked curiously.

"That?" She waved the tablet. "That's an iPad. You can use it to access the internet and such."

He just gaped at her.

She gave him a winning smile and said, "There's a lot of things you don't know about the modern world. Not just history but also science, medicine, and obviously technology." She then added with a sneer, "Your old tricks won't impress anyone these days. You won't make it long unless you start to learn."

Erik gritted his teeth. The damn woman did have a point there.

"We could make a deal," she suggested. "You promise not to interfere with the Opera House too much and above all," she stressed out, "not to kill anyone. In return, I can teach you everything you need to know. What do you say?"

That was plain preposterous!

"I won't be making any deals with a pesky little toad like you," he scoffed, dashing out of the room.

Carlotta just plopped down on her chair, arms crossed. Bloody ghost, she cursed him in her mind, wondering why exactly was everyone so fond of him.

In the meantime Erik snuck his way around the theater in search of the one person he believed could be his ally in this bizarre adventure: the Persian. He eventually found him near the Grand Escalier and throwing his voice, he informed him that he wished to speak with him in private.

"In case you didn't notice, I'm working," the guard replied gruffly, not at all spooked by a voice coming from a nearby lamp holder.

"I don't care."

"Of course you don't." Daroga rolled his eyes. "Perhaps I should remind you that it's thanks to us guards that the phans didn't violate your skinny ass yet."

"So far they've been mostly trying to violate my ears."

"Meet me after my shift ends in the locker rooms," Daroga finally gave up. "Just watch for Eugéne when he comes to change with me."

There was no response but the guard assumed the silence stood for yes and later when he ended his shift he lingered around the locker rooms a little longer than necessary.

He actually jumped when Erik appeared in front of him all of a sudden as if he'd grown out of the floor.

"I need your help Daroga," he stated in an irrefutable tone. "I assume I can count on you like I always have."

The guard rose a brow. "Erik, you do realize I'm not actually the Persian, right?" he said trying to read the ghost's face for as much as it was possible with his mask on. "I'm not even from Persia, or should I rather say from Iran because there's no such country as Persia anymore." Seeing Erik waver, he continued, "I was born in France and I consider myself a French. They only call me Daroga because of some physical resemblance to the book character."

"Is this really 2017?"

"Oh yeah."

"This is insane."

Daroga flashed Erik a smile. "Don't be so negative, you might actually like it. The world has changed a lot. No one minds your face anymore, or the mask for that matter. You're our beloved resident ghost." Seeing the ghost's skeptical expression, he said, "You must have noticed that we all consider you welcome here at Palais Garnier, as long as you behave of course. Speaking of which," he pointed an accusing finger at him, "if I hear that you pulled out one of your usual shenanigans you'll find the gendarmerie raiding your home in no time."

Erik's eye twitched dangerously. "The Persian was the only one who knew a way to my lair. With him gone, nobody can ever find my home."

"I'm sorry to break it to you Erik," Daroga laughed, "but the undergrounds have been thoroughly explored and your house has also been discovered."

Erik appeared unconvinced.

"There's a mechanism concealed in the wall on the far side of the lake. It opens a door to a house built within the double casing of the foundation. All guards know about it because we need to watch that some of the crazier phans, who go as far as to jump into the lake, don't find their way in there. That part of the cellars has been left unlit on purpose, you know."

Reality fell on Erik like a bucket of icy water. People knew where his home was! There was no place, not even in the deepest depths of the Opera House where he could hide from the cruel world.

He thought of Christine. Fate had given him a second chance with her but the way things were it'd take time to fulfill their destiny. He'd need to learn to live under this new and rather unfavorable circumstances until she was ready. He could do it. He would do it. For Christine.

"Fine Daroga, I will mind my own business," he promised. "In return, you will tell me all I need to know about the modern times."

Daroga gave him an annoyed look. "Erik, I have a wife, two kids, and a dog to take care of. I don't have time to babysit you as well."

"You're my only friend," Erik tried to argue.

"A friend that you meant to boil in that torture room of yours," the guard reminded him.

"It wasn't actually you. "

"You've got a point there," Daroga admitted, "but following that line of thought I could argue that I'm really no close friend of yours. Don't get me wrong," he added on a second thought, "I'm not your enemy either. I guess you could say that I'm your friend just as much as everyone else in this theater is, starting from the managers to end up with the cleaning staff." Exhaling tiredly, he finished, "Just pick someone, anyone really, and charm them into helping you. I'm pretty sure you can do that."

Erik was at a loss for arguments. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could offer Daroga to make him comply with his request. He wouldn't help him? Whatever! Someone else would and he already knew who.

Leaving the locker rooms he took off to the backstage and snuck into Carlotta's dressing room again. Luckily she was still there.

"I accept your offer," he said plainly, startling the girl who didn't even notice his presence, busy playing with another strange device, very much like the iPad thing, only smaller.

She just gave him a defiant look and said simply, "No."

"No?" He blinked at her in surprise. "You suggested it yourself."

"And you called me a toad," she countered, crossing her arms and turning back to her device.

Erik gritted his teeth. For Christine. He was doing this for Christine.

"Please?"

Carlotta gave him a taciturn expression.

"Please," he repeated, dreading the sound of the word on his lips.

"You will do everything as I tell you." The girl's voice was stone cold.

"I will, as long as it will be unavoidable," he snuck in a little backdoor into his promise but Carlotta didn't seem to notice.

"You fuck up once," she threatened, "and you're on your own. And remember my dear Erik, no one is going to fear you these days. They will hunt you down and they will throw you in jail where you'll have more to worry about than just a bunch of squealing phangirls."

"Fine!" he shouted, having had enough of being constantly reminded that he was totally and utterly screwed.

"Let's meet here tomorrow after I'm done with my rehearsals."

He nodded in agreement and without uttering another word he left.

When he was gone, Carlotta slouched in her chair. She had a vague sensation she'd just gotten herself into one hell of a mess. On the other hand, she was thrilled because, as much as Erik enraged her, he also intrigued her.

* * *

 **Next chapter: Carlotta tried to help Erik fit in which turns out to be more difficult than she expected**


	3. Chapter 3 - Good advice

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - Good advice**

* * *

Going to his appointed meeting with Carlotta, Erik thought what kind of information he should ask her first. Should he focus on the main events that happened in the last century, like all those wars and discoveries she had mentioned? Or perhaps it was more important to learn about that iStuff everyone seemed to carry around and use for all kinds of purposes? He couldn't imagine that Carlotta already had some plans for their first encounter.

"If we are going to be spending some time together," she said when he finally joined her in her dressing room, "I require that you make yourself presentable."

"Are you implying I'm not presentable?!" he blurted out, deadly offended. He had actually dressed up for the occasion, putting on his best tailored suit and shirt complete with a pair of white gloves to conceal his bony fingers.

Carlotta gave him a critical look. "Erik, you look like an undertaker," she summed him up.

Crossing his arms in defiance, he drawled, "Erik prides himself in dressing very well."

"Perhaps in 1898. Now you just look like you're ready for the coffin. Not to mention these clothes have been lying underneath the Opera House for a century. I wouldn't be surprised if they just fell apart on your back."

Erik looked at her grudgingly but she didn't seem to care.

Standing up, she went to retrieve a black duffel bag from her wardrobe. "I took the liberty of purchasing some clothes for you," she said, shoving him the bag. " I hope everything fits. If something doesn't, I can have it returned or exchanged for a different size as long as you don't remove the tag."

"I can't accept these." He pushed the bag away. It was downward humiliating that an all in all unknown woman would buy him a new wardrobe.

"It's no big deal," she assured. "I come from a wealthy family. I can afford this."

He was just about to protest again when he was interrupted by a melody that suddenly played and the sound seemed to be coming from Carlotta's bag. Gesturing for him to wait for a second, she retrieved that little device she'd been playing with the other day and slid her finger across the screen. The music stopped and putting the device to her ear, she began talking to it.

"Okay, I'll be right there. Just wait a second. How much is it? Ok. I'm coming," she said with some pauses in between. Putting the device away, she addressed him, "I'll be right back. In the meantime check out those clothes," and she just ran out.

She returned about ten minutes later carrying a flat square box. Making some space on her vanity, she put it down and opened it to reveal a sort of flatbread coated with tomato sauce and a mix of sausage, vegetables, and cheese.

"It's called pizza," she told him. "Have a slice."

"I'm not hungry," he lied.

She shook her head disapprovingly. "You're not a ghost anymore Erik. You have to eat."

"I already ate," he lied again if only to oppose her.

"Really?" She gave him a doubtful look. "And where, may I know, did you get the food?"

He didn't reply. In the old days, having been provided with a substantial salary of twenty francs a month, he simply bought everything he needed, including some food. He never ate much though, somehow having never found the gusto of it. Currently, he'd been starving since the moment he awoke in this foreign reality.

"Erik," Carlotta said patiently as if she were explaining it to a stubborn five-year-old, "you're already pretty slender. If you don't eat, you're soon going to transform into that living corpse your beloved Christine ran away from. Think of it," she appealed to his better judgement. "What if she was also reborn in this century and the two of you meet one day? Do you really want her to have that same reaction again?"

Damn! Did the woman know exactly where to stab that knife!

Inadvertently he remembered the night when hidden in the shadow of Apollo's Lyre he evesdropped on Christine telling Raoul how repulsive he was. It had hurt even if he'd known that she was telling the truth. He had been a living corpse, an old, wrinkled, dried up remaining of what many years before used to be an almost human being. His abhorrent face he was born with, but the rest of it, he finally admitted, he did to himself.

Reluctantly he took a piece of pizza and put it in his mouth. It wasn't too bad.

"Every day you'll be coming with me to the Opera Restaurant for lunch," she decided. "Other than _la carte_ they also have a daily menu for the workers of the Opera. Each month we're granted a number of coupons, kind of like pretend money, we can spend at the restaurant so we don't have to worry about food throughout the day. You can use some of mine."

"That's out of the question." There was no way in the world he'd deprive a lady of her food to have it himself.

As if guessing his thoughts Carlotta added, "I wouldn't spend all of them anyway because I prefer to have breakfast and supper either at home or on the town."

"I can't do this," he insisted.

"If you decline, our deal blows up," she warned and when that didn't have the expected reaction, she added with a sigh, "I come here to work Erik. By the evening I'm simply tired. I thought I could use my lunch break to teach you things. If that won't be enough we can have an hour or so in the evening but no more than that. Is that clear?"

She was leaving him no choice. "Fine," he breathed out in defeat.

The girl broke into a wide smile. "Great!" she cheered and then produced another bag, a paper one with some sort of logo on it. "I also got you some other stuff you may need like a shower gel, toothpaste, shampoo, razors, you know, things like that. In case I forgot anything, just tell me and I'll get it for you the next time around."

He gave her an incredulous look.

"What?" she snapped. "I would only expect of a respectable Opera Ghost like you to keep a certain level of decorum."

Did she just call him indecorous?! That insolent child!

Deeply insulted, he informed her, "Erik does possess all the necessary toiletries and he certainly does use them."

"And now he will also possess their updated versions and will use those," she refuted. "Here," she gave him a piece of paper, "I made you a list of some good behaviors I expect you to adopt."

He glanced at the list, then shot up, eyes blazing, and stormed out of the room.

" _Ma dai_ , Erik!" Carlotta called out to him. "This is for your own good!"

Ignoring her plea, he rushed across the corridors, trying to boil out his anger before he would snap someone's, preferably Carlotta's, neck, screwing up the whole arrangement and with that his second chance at Christine. He didn't even notice when he came by Daroga again.

"Hey Erik, what got you so bent out of shape?" the guard asked, taking notice of his foul mood.

"The little toad dared to imply I don't take care of myself," he growled. "Look!" He shoved Daroga a crumpled piece of paper. "Look what she wrote!"

"She?" Daroga inquired. "Ah, Mademoiselle Giudicelli I presume?"

"Just look!"

Daroga checked the paper. "Shower daily, brush teeth at least twice a day, leave dirty clothes in the laundry to be cleaned, eat at least two proper meals a day…" he listed. "Seems all excellent advice to me."

"She thinks I don't even bathe!"

Daroga gave him a dubious look. "Erik, an occasional swim in the underground lake does not count as bathing."

He stared at him in disbelief and cried, "I have a bathtub in my house!"

Daroga broke into a chuckle. "Erik, your ways might have been ok in the 19th century but certainly not today. We'll all be happy to let you use our showers, so why don't you?"

Ugh! Why didn't he get it?! It wasn't about the damn showers, whatever those were, it was just that she treated him like some… some… some bum!

"Just look at the last point!" he raged again, pointing out to a highlighted sentence at the bottom of the page.

"No getting yourself drunk senseless," the guard read out loud. "I would say she couldn't give you a better advice than _that_."

" _Et tu Brute?_ Even you, Daroga, are against me?"

The guard rolled his eyes. "Nobody is against you Erik," he said tiredly. "The girl means well. Smartass, she must've realized you died of liver failure and wants to prevent it."

"I died out of love!" His liver certainly had nothing to do with that.

"Sometimes I wonder why do they consider you to be a genius," the guard muttered. "People get their hearts broken all the time Erik and none of them ever dropped dead because of it."

"Fine, I could've died of liver failure, but how would Carlotta of all people know that?"

"The book describes you as having yellowed skin and eyes. Those are common symptoms of liver deficiency which is often caused by alcohol abuse," Daroga explained. "It really isn't so hard to figure out."

Words died out on Erik's lips. Daroga's argument was irrefutable.

"The book clearly suggests that at the time you were very old and very sick," he continued. "Even if Christine loved you and stayed with you, you would've died soon anyway. Now you're young and healthy again. You could do anything if you only wanted to. You could get recognition for your work. Damn, I think you could even find love. Don't screw that up by making the same mistakes over and over again, " he contended. "Listen to Mademoiselle Giudicelli. She really is just trying to help."

He knew Daroga was talking sense but he really had had enough of being patronized.

"Some irritating little brat won't forbid me to drink if I wish to do so!" he shouted and stormed away, leaving Daroga shaking his head helplessly.

Without wasting much time he found that restaurant Carlotta told him about and stole a bottle of wine with a clear intent to drink it, if only for the sake of defying her orders. He just waited for the Opera House to get deserted, then sat in the middle of the Grand Escalier and proceeded to get himself dead drunk. He had eaten so little in the last few days that he didn't even finish the bottle before he was sprawled on the marble floor completely unconscious.

He had no idea how long he'd been out when a quiet voice drew him back into a semi-conscious state. "Oh my God, is he dead?" it said.

A weight rested on his chest. "He's still breathing," another voice observed, "but he smells funny."

"I think it's just the clothes. My grandpa's old suits always smell like that."

Really? Even the voices in his dreams would torment him about his damn clothes?

A hand entwined itself in his hair, pulling slightly and he let out a small groan. What the hell was going on?

"Is it real?" one of the voices asked.

The other one replied, "I think so. It's so soft."

"Strange. He should have a wig."

"The mask is also wrong. It should be a white half mask."

"The Phantom in the musical has the half mask only because it makes it easier for him to sing or something. They must glue it to his face so it wouldn't slip. If he was real he'd surely have a full mask."

Oh no! It had to be those crazy groupies of his! How did they call them? Ah yes! Phans!

"He's kinda cute, you know," one of the voices said and he felt tiny fingers touch his neck, then travel further across his chest to his waist and all the way down his legs.

Daroga was right. If given the chance, they would actually try to take physical advantage of him! He had to get up! Now!

"Do you think he really could be…?" the voice didn't finish but the other one seemed to have understood.

"There's only one way to find out." The little prickling fingers that caressed his jaw slowly pulled at the edge of his mask.

The fear of being revealed made him instantly come to his senses. Adrenaline rushed through his veins and his eyes snapped open.

"Aaah!" the voices cried in unison. They belonged to two girls of about twenty.

"Oh God! What's wrong with his eyes?!" one of them mumbled, staring at him in horror.

The other girl seemed a little bit braver. He suspected she was the one that had meant to remove his mask. "A-Are you the Phantom?" she stuttered.

Erik ignored the question. "Out of here!" he roared.

The girls cringed but stood their ground.

"I said out!" he pointed downstairs. "I _am_ the phantom and this is _my_ Opera House and I _will not_ tolerate trespassers!"

"E-Erik, we only w-wanted t-to..."

"Get out of here before I find my lasso and have you two hanging by your feet from the chandelier!" he drawled, striding at them, his yellow eyes flashing in rage.

"What's this bustle?" a man's voice spoke from the top of the staircase and turning around, Erik saw one of the night shift guards. "You two," the man addressed the phans, "what are you doing here?"

"We got lost," one of them lied, "and the Opera closed before we could leave."

"Yeah, we got locked up," the other one confirmed eagerly.

"I'll let you out now." In a flash, the guard was at their side and pushing them down the stairs. "And you," he hissed at Erik as he passed him by, "go back to your dungeon and sleep that off."

"Don't you order me around!" he yelled back but the guard didn't listen, busy escorting the two girls out, so he just turned on his heel and ran to the nearest hidden passage that would take him back to the tranquility of his underground home. There he just lay at the lake shore, waiting for the pounding in his head to stop and thinking of everything that had transpired in the last few days.

* * *

 **A/N:** "Ma dai", a phrase the real la Carlotta uses also in the musical/movie, means sthg like "Oh, come on". The same kind of meaning can be also achieved with an "Andiamo" which could also mean either "come on" (if figurative) or simply "let's go" (if literal).

 **Next chapter: Erik runs into the cleaning lady again, this time without the vacuum, and meets a friendly coiffeur**

 **Is he overreacting in regards to Carlotta's instructions?**

 **Does he really have a proper bathroom with running water?**

 **Did he really die of liver failure?**


	4. Chapter 4 - Future begins today

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 4 - Future begins today**

* * *

When Erik finally emerged back into the world above, the Opera House was dark and silent again. Passing through the mirror he silently snuck into the cramped little dressing room. All the things Carlotta had brought him were still there, squeezed into a narrow space between the wall and the wardrobe. She hadn't returned them. Hadn't she had time to do it or did she actually expect him to eventually collect them?

Hesitantly he took the duffel bag and emptied the contents on the sofa. There was a couple pair of pants, a few shirts that varied from casual to formal, a sweater, a hoodie and a leather jacket. He also found some undergarments and small accessories, a pair of black shoes, the kind everyone seemed to wear these days, and finally, a matching set of dress pants and blazer which he supposed was a modern version of a suit. Almost everything was rigorously black, save for just a few smaller pieces in either white, grey, bottle green or dark burgundy.

Erik had to admit, the girl had taste. All in all, she didn't dress that bad herself compared to some other people that went about the Opera these days, choosing neutral colors, discreet jewelry and essential makeup. She looked young and fresh, certainly more so than her ancestor. She was very beautiful, he thought, inadvertently recalling the sensation of her lips on his.

He shook his head vigorously, banishing the memory away. What was he doing thinking about her in such terms?! That was Carlotta, for God's sake! Perhaps that wasn't the very same Carlotta but it was likely her great great granddaughter which made it just as bad. Whatever strange spell she cast on him, he wouldn't give in to it!

Getting a hold of himself he looked inside the other bag which held a set of bottles and various other items, the purpose of which he could easily guess from the labels on the packaging. There appeared to be pretty much everything a man could possibly need to get himself decent.

He looked at his own ghastly reflection in the mirror and let out a defeated sigh. Perhaps Carlotta and Daroga were right after all. If he ever wanted to have a second chance at Christine he'd have to look his best. She was a modern girl now. He had to meet her standards.

Making up his mind he grabbed both bags and went out in search of the showers. Even before Daroga mentioned it, he had heard the word during his earlier exploration of the premises, spoken by some random ballerinas. They had sweat like pigs during the ballet training, they had said, so before going home they'd go take a shower downstairs. He hadn't followed them then but he remembered the general direction they went so it didn't take him long before he found what appeared to be a large washroom. Locking the door, he undressed and taking a few items from the paper bag with him, he got into one of the cabins and tentatively turned the knobs.

The water was warm, crystal clear and scentless. Closing his eyes, he let it stream over his body, savoring the sensation. There was something cathartic about it as if it could wash away years of grief, shame, and vulnerability.

Reflected upside down in the metallic shower knob his own face twisted into a sneer. " _Erik mustn't fool himself_ ," it laughed, " _No matter how hard he scrubs himself he'll always be as repelling as ever._ "

"Erik mustn't listen," he spat angrily. "It is only right that he take care of himself in the way other people do in this time."

"What for? _No woman would ever touch him with the end of a stick!_ "

"Erik had been granted a kiss! A real kiss! Not just a pitiful peck on the forehead, not even on the cheek, but flat on the mouth!"

" _Right. Carlotta kissed him but she had never seen his face. If she_ only _saw his face! Horror! Horror! Horror!_ "

"Stop it!" Erik yelled out loud, covering his ears with his hands. The stereo conscience was driving him crazy.

The voice vanished and he got out of the shower, shaved, brushed his teeth and fixed his hair. He chose a few things from the duffel bag and tried them on, amazed at how comfortable they were and how well they actually fit.

As he inspected himself in the mirror, his own reflection mocked him from the other side of the glass, " _Erik may dress like a dandy but he will always remain a living corpse._ "

Carefully he put his mask back on. Now, that was better. He would never let Christine take it off, not this time around. If she never knew his face perhaps she could love him for what he was inside.

" _Erik is a monster, on the inside just as on the outside_ ," the man in the mirror reminded him. " _No one could ever love him simply for himself_."

"Shut up!" he growled and the reflection finally obeyed, going still and silent.

Going back home through Carlotta's dressing room, he noticed a couple books laying on her vanity. Curious, he made a step back and checked out the titles. One was "Phantom" by a certain Susan Kay and the other one was "The Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux.

He took the little black book and seized it in his hands with a strange sense of anxiety. This inconspicuous object was the reason for all his troubles, he realized, feeling a sudden urge to read it if only to find out just how much did it actually reveal about him.

Without much thought, he snatched the book and made his way towards the Grand Escalier. There was a secret place high above, where from a vantage point he'd see when the Opera opened to public again, forcing him to retreat back into the undergrounds which, truth be told, had lost a good part of their appeal now that he knew they were no longer only his own.

Making himself comfortable in the hidden niche, he opened the book and read, " _The Opera Ghost really existed…_ ". It didn't take long before he was completely immersed in the story and devouring chapter after chapter he didn't even notice when morning came. He had almost reached the last page when an outraged shout snapped him out of his focus.

"Hey, you punk! Get off there or the ghost will have your ne-" the woman cut mid-sentence when he leaned out of his place to face her. He recognized her. It was the same cleaning lady that chased him out of his box a couple days earlier.

"Oh pardon me Monsieur Erik," she apologized, noting her mistake, "I didn't recognize you in this new attire. Uh la la, don't you look dashing!"

At first, Erik thought she was plain mocking him, but there was something about her easy-going tone that made him wonder whether she could've been honestly complimenting him and he felt his cheeks burn under his mask in embarrassment.

"Just what have you done to your hair." The woman shook her head disapprovingly. "It's all uneven."

Instinctively he smoothed out his chopped off locks. They were a bit too long to his liking so he tried to trim them but apparently, for as skilled he was in all kind of fields, he had absolutely no talent for cutting hair.

"Don't you worry about it," the woman chirped, dragging him along the corridor with her. "Jerome will have it fixed in no time!"

Erik didn't even protest, once again stunned by how loose people acted around him. They all talked to him like a normal person and they even touched him of their own free will and without the slightest sign of repulsion. He would've thought it was because they didn't know what he was but in his hand he still held the tangible proof that they all did. It all felt so strange. It all felt so… good.

"What's your name?" he asked the woman while they walked down. It was the second time they met and he still knew absolutely nothing about her.

"I'm Valentina."

"You're not French, are you?" he inquired further. He had noticed earlier she spoke with a very faint accent. Russian perhaps?

"I come from a small town not far from Moscow," Valentina told him. "Have you ever been to Russia?"

He actually had and he told her so in her native language which got her absolutely delighted. Chatting, they made their way to the back and Valentina eventually showed him into a room filled up to the ceiling with stage costumes.

"Jerome?" she called. "Are you in there?"

An annoyed nasal voice replied her, "What is it now?" A moment later a young man with the blondest hair Erik had ever seen emerged from within stacks of brocade dresses and heavy cloaks.

"Oh mon Dieu!" he exclaimed when he saw Erik, covering his mouth with his hand.

"I know Jerome, I know," Valentina said sadly. "He tried to cut it himself, I think."

Erik then understood the horrified gasp was exclusively about his hair and relaxed his hands which had already balled up into fists.

"I was hoping that such a great artist as yourself," the Russian continued, "could do something about it."

Jerome let out a hopeless sigh. "Oh, I don't know," he mused, checking Erik out with a critical eye of an expert.

"Please Jerome, we can't let him go around looking like some hipster."

"You're absolutely right cherie. That's so 2013! What a shame for the Opera House to have a ghost that is so outrageously out of fashion!"

The blonde ran away just to be back a few minutes later armed with comb and scissors.

"Cherie," he began, sitting Erik down on a chair, "you have to take that mask off."

"No," Erik declined simply. He wasn't showing his face to anyone ever, certainly not to a gay hairdresser and a Russian cleaning woman he barely knew. So far they've been kind to him and he was beginning to like it. He didn't want him to faint and her to scream in terror.

Jerome gave Valentina a look. "How am I supposed to do his hair with that thing in the way?!" he sighed ostentatiously.

"Monsieur Erik, please take it off," the woman asked gently. "We won't laugh or anything."

"You can cover your face with your hands if you like," Jerome suggested. "We promise we won't try to look."

"Fine," Erik surrendered. There was just something about their tone that told him he could trust them. "Just turn around and close your eyes for a minute," he asked and when both Valentina and Jerome complied, he quickly removed his mask, and putting it aside, he buried his face in his hands. "You can look now, " he told them.

A few moments later he felt a comb run through his hair, parting it into sections. There followed a repeated sound of cutting scissors.

"Honestly Erik," Jerome blabbered while he worked, "all this shyness is useless. We all know you don't have a proper nose."

"The nose is no big deal, really," Valentina assured. "There's more important parts a man should have."

"Valentina!" the blonde exclaimed scandalized. "You Russians have absolutely no shame!"

Scissors were put down in exchange for a blow dryer and a few more agonizing moments later Jerome had announced the end of his work with a satisfied "Voilà!"

Asking them to turn away and close their eyes, Erik put his mask back on.

"You are one helluva handsome ghost," Valentina said, handing him a small mirror. "If one of our singers disappears, we'll all know where she went," she giggled and send him a flirty wink.

Perhaps for Valentina and Jerome this was handsome but Erik thought he just looked like an idiot with his long fringe blow-dried into a voluminous lock that made his face appear even longer and thinner than it already was. Ignoring Jerome's outraged cry, he took some gel and slicked his hair back in his usual way. Only then he figured it actually looked nice. At least it was even.

Thanking Valentina and Jerome for their help, he snuck out of the costume closet and headed towards Carlotta's dressing room intent on returning Leroux' book and perhaps borrowing the other one.

"Erik!" the girl exclaimed in surprise when he burst into the room.

Cursing himself for not even considering the possibility that she could be inside, he just mumbled, "I brought you back your book."

"That's okay," she said. "I suspected you may have it."

He desperately wanted to make some smart remark but all coherent thought seemed to abandon him under her inspecting gaze. He would've given anything to know what she was thinking but her expression stayed unreadable.

Finally, the girl broke the embarrassing silence. "You took the clothes," she stated simply, "and you cut your hair."

He just nodded yes.

Carlotta broke into a wide smile. "Come on," she cheered and grabbing him by the hand she pulled him out of the room.

Erik followed her across the backstage to the back exit and across the parking lot. There they stopped at the gates and squinting his eyes from the blaring afternoon sun he stared in astonishment at the city that spread in front of him.

The familiar Parisian streets were infested by some strange machines of all shapes and sizes, emitting clouds of smelling fumes and drowning everything in a deafening noise. To the right, a flashy green and grey barrier sectioned off a part of the street. Nearby stood a couple men in dirty overalls, smoking cigarettes and talking in a foreign language. To their left, a dandy in a striped set leaned against the gates, talking loudly to his funny little device. A couple women passed by, one of them with pink hair fixed in two buns. They shared a small kiss, before disappearing behind the corner. Farther away more people walked the streets. Nobody screamed. Nobody ran. No one even noticed that a creepy looking man in a mask had just emerged from the Opera House.

"Erik," Carlotta said proudly, "welcome to the 21st century!"

* * *

 **Next chapter: Erik learns to live in the 21st century all the wile trying to handle Carlotta who isn't exactly a sweet and proper lady**

 **Be so kind and leave a review. They mean a world to me!**


	5. Chapter 5 - Scar tissue

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 8 - Scar tissue**

* * *

Just as Carlotta had requested, Erk met her daily to have lunch at the Opera Restaurant. He hated it at first. He didn't belong in that world of daylight where he was exposed to people's curious stares and hushed gossip. Who was he, they'd ask when he passed by. Why did he wear a mask? What was he trying to hide? Speaking softly, they all must've thought he didn't hear them but he did and all he wanted to do was get out of there and return to the comforting darkness of the undergrounds. On his first day he almost did just that but as soon as he turned back on his heel, he clashed with Carlotta who intently steered him to the farthest, darkest corner of the place and pushed him into one of the rounded red chairs.

"They're just curious," she told him, noting his discomfort.

"You must think that after a lifetime of being a freak show," he snorted, "I should be used to it."

Carlotta pursed her lips. "I only think you shouldn't be so paranoid," she said. "At the Opera, we all know who you are but these are outsiders, some random Parisians and tourists. They don't get to see a fully masked man on a daily basis. It's only expectable that they would stare."

Carlotta was right. He had been a fool to believe that everyone would treat him like a normal person based only on the overly friendly attitude of a few Opera workers and the lack of interest from the passer-bys the other day. In a more closed environment, like a restaurant hall, he was bound to be noticed and stared at. He could as well ignore it and just enjoy the meal and the most unexpected company.

True to her promise, Carlotta used their time together to tell him about the modern world. Ont the first day they talked about all kind of things without any common thread as she'd been unprepared, convinced that he'd given up on their deal. The next time though she came supplied with some lesson material that included information from different fields including history, geography, science, information technology and pop culture. She occasionally brought him some books to read in his spare time and let him use her tablet to search the web for any additional information he might be curious about.

"Perhaps if I keep you busy," she would say, "you won't have time to punjab anyone."

He swore that sometimes he wanted to punjab just her, for as great a teacher as she was, she drove him crazy with her undeniably wise advice, not to mention some cheeky remarks. She was a quite a challenge: ready to give but also expecting to take in return. If he did something right, she was the first to reward him with the kindest words and gestures but if he failed her, she'd stay vexed until he admitted his fault and came back to her bidding forgiveness. If he dared to laugh at her, she mocked him back. If he yelled at her, she raged back.

It took time but he eventually admitted, if only to himself, that he'd grown attached to the little toad. She was a friend. More than anyone else in the theater, more than Daroga even, with whom he had a good relationship, albeit different from the one he had had with the Persian back in his time, considering they had no history together.

When la Debonnaire's unpredictable health called once again for Carlotta to act as her additional understudy, disrupting their established routines, he found himself growing more and more restless. He read, he played, he composed, he drew, he built traps and he fooled around the Opera House, pulling an occasional prank on the visitors or the staff. A couple times he even went to grab a snack at the restaurant but without Carlotta there, food seemed to have lost its taste. The worst thing was, he'd been deprived of the girl's company for nothing, as he was about to find out.

It was evening on the day before the grand gala and he was lurking around the Grand Escalier making himself amused by throwing his voice around the place to confuse a group of teenage girls whose outrageously off-key singing of a familiar tune had betrayed them as phangirls. Guided by his whispers they ran around the entire hall, each of them claiming that they had heard the Phantom call them. When a couple of them clashed at a crossing he couldn't help himself from erupting into a hysterical laughter.

"That's so mature of you Erik," spoke a familiar soprano and looking up he saw Carlotta, the corners of her mouth twitching despite her scornful tone.

"They were asking for it," he commented, not at all sorry.

"Oh Erik, these girls come here because they love you and secretly wish to meet you."

"They'd better be careful what they wish for," he said in a sinister tone. "I bet they wouldn't be too happy to spend the rest of their lives locked up in my house."

"They'd get found and rescued within a couple of days at most," she retorted, "and you'd get in one hell lot of trouble."

"Gah! Do you have to constantly remind me about that?!"

Really, one day he was going to kidnap her just to see how long it would take for everyone to figure it out and actually find their way to his home, assuming they'd manage to avoid all the newly placed traps.

"Did you want to tell me something?" he asked. It was unlikely she'd climb all those stairs just to take a stroll around the House. She had to have been looking for him.

"La Debonnaire called in sick. She won't be singing tomorrow."

"You'll be singing the lead?" He wasn't sure whether to be happy or annoyed about it.

Carlotta shook her head. "Julianne will," she informed him. "She's la Debonnaire's designed understudy and her leg is doing fine by now. She said she was up to it. They only had me learn the part just in case."

There was bitterness in her tone and Erik wondered just how many times had she been this close to getting the leading role but was eventually pushed back into the chorus.

"Anyways, I was thinking," Carlotta continued, "since I won't have to hang around and act like a primadonna, how about tomorrow after the performance we go grab a drink together?"

"Fine," he replied, trying to sound careless. The hell he would let her know how glad he was to be finally spending some time with her again.

"Okay!" She smiled happily. "So let's meet tomorrow in the Rotonde des Abonnés, say, an hour after the show ends?"

"Sure," he agreed without even thinking about it, but then realized his mistake. "Wait!" he called her to a halt. "Why the Rotonde? It's not on the way to the restaurant."

She gave him a hesitant glance. "I actually meant to go somewhere other than the restaurant."

"You mean outside the Opera?"

She nodded. "I know of a place you might like," she said and seeing him waver, she added, "It's going to be dark already and besides," she placed a hand on his arm, "you'll be with me."

He looked at her, befuddled. "I don't make leaps of joy about going out in public," he grumbled, "but I sure as hell am not scared of it. I've been out there before."

"Oh!" She immediately retracted her hand. "I just thought… Nevermind!"

She didn't really know what she had thought. Perhaps it was the fault of that sobby scene that had been cut out from the movie, and which she recently stumbled upon on Youtube, in which Gerik sings " _No One Would Listen_ " that somehow led her to perceive Erik as some sort of lost puppy which he certainly was not.

"Tomorrow then. La Rotonde," she confirmed and took her leave, feeling like a complete idiot.

The next day, once the gala was over, she quickly retreated into her dressing room where she changed from her stage attire into casual clothes and make-up. There was a reception in the Grand Foyer up front as it often happened after the bigger shows, especially if they featured a new leading lady, and the performers were generally expected to attend but she was pretty sure no one would notice one missing chorus girl. Once she was presentable, she snuck her way to the Rotonde where Erik was already waiting for her.

"Mademoiselle." He kissed her hand softly. "You look very beautiful tonight."

He did that sometimes: acted with that old-fashioned chivalry that always made her wonder whether he really meant what he said or did he say it simply out of some deeply installed politeness.

She thanked him nonetheless and added, on her part being completely honest, "You cleaned up not bad yourself." He really looked pretty smug in his dark jeans and leather jacket.

Getting outside, she called an Uber and when it arrived she told Erik to get inside. If he was feeling uneasy about riding a car he did a good job of hiding it. Hadn't she known better, she would've thought it was no news to him.

When the driver eventually dropped them off in front of an eastern-style bar, Erik gave her a quizzical look. "Shisha lounge?" he asked.

"I thought we could both use a little chill," she said hopefully. Kay's Erik was into smoking and she assumed the real one might also enjoy it, even if she couldn't offer him any hashish or even opium, only scented tobacco. Now she asked herself whether she may have gotten it all wrong. "You do smoke, right?"

"Used to," he replied cryptically, making a step into the lounge.

If the waiter got a little startled by Erik's mask, he knew better not to ask about it. Instead, on Carlotta's polite request, he led them to a secluded table deep within the parlor and took their order for some drinks, food and the best shisha they had.

Sinking into the velvety softness of a cushioned sofa, Erik thought how this place reminded him a little of Persia. The rich hues of red, orange and magenta, the soft notes of Arabic music playing in the background and the scented fumes took him back to the rosy hours at Mazandaran, a strange time in his life, neither good nor bad, but certainly memorable. Inhaling another mouthful of tobacco mixed with some fruit and a refreshing sprinkle of mint, he abandoned himself to the familiar dizziness. Sure, this was no hard drug, but it was still good. Then there was her, that Machiavellian demon wrapped only in translucent black lace and thick clouds of smoke.

She slid dangerously close to him on the sofa and her fingers traced the fine lines that marked the exposed skin of his forearm. "What happened here?" she asked softly, pulling his sleeve further up to see how far the scars went.

He retracted his arm harshly and huffed, "None of your business."

Perhaps it was the smoke and the alcohol, but she didn't seem affected by his reserve. "Is it true," she said, snuggling into his side, "what the book says about you?"

"Which book?"

She pondered on it for a while. "Leroux?"

"The facts are there," he said, "but remember that his interpretation of my humble persona is based exclusively on others' account of me. Not to mention he so aptly sprinkled it all with quite a good dose of unnecessary drama."

She chucked. "Unnecessary drama?"

"Seriously," he gruffed, "some of the words he put in my mouth make me look nothing short of demented."

Carlotta thought about it for a moment and decided that Erik, for as peculiar a person as he was, didn't exactly match Leroux' portrayal to a tee, not even where personality was concerned.

"What about Kay?" she asked on, feeling he'd say no more on the Leroux. She was more curious about "Phantom" anyways since it described Erik's life during all its course, since his birth all the way to his death.

"She actually guessed a few things right," he admitted, "but the details are all wrong."

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know, names, dates, stuff like that."

She hoped he'd elaborate on that and when he didn't she had to use all her self-restraint in order to stop herself from bombarding him with questions she suspected he wouldn't answer anyways.

"And what do you think of Forsythe?" She hadn't really read "The Phantom of Manhattan" yet but she knew what it was about from the web and she thought it didn't make much sense.

"That one is total baloney," he snarled. "For once, I died in Palais Garnier not long after Christine left. Secondly, I bet that sissy wouldn't let her sing on stage once they married. I'm also pretty sure Madame Giry had never been anywhere near a circus in her entire life. "

"What about," she hesitated, "what about the kid?" That element had also appeared in Kay and the way she described it, it seemed possible for the least.

He just laughed bitterly. "Unless there exists some miraculous conception via sound waves I can be certain I do not have any children."

The amused giggle died in her throat when she understood the veiled meaning behind his humorous remark. Suddenly she felt guilty for asking him all those questions, forcing him to relive his past, she vaguely suspected held even more horrors than all the writers together could have imagined. Feeling sheepish, she averted her gaze from his anguished yellow eyes and it fell on his lips marked with a thin white line, certainly a souvenir of yet another humiliation.

Erik noticed it and a strange and tempting thought arose in his mind. He leaned in, half expecting her to snap back in revulsion, but she only tilted her head a little and before he could talk himself out of it he captured her lips. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and he drew her into his lap, forgetting himself in the wonderful sensation of having a living, breathing woman in his arms. He had thought it impossible, and yet there she was eagerly parting her sweet little mouth for him to explore. She put so much tenderness into every little kiss, every little caress as if she was trying to erase all of his pain with her loving touch.

Then it dawned on him: she only pitied him and he shamelessly took advantage of it. He loved Christine and yet he kissed Carlotta just because he could.

"Erik is very sorry," he said regretfully, putting some distance between them. "He promises this won't happen again."

The girl just stared at him in confusion.

"Will you still want to be Erik's friend?" he pleaded.

"O-Of course," she stuttered, trying desperately to understand what the hell had just happened.

Somehow the shisha seemed to have lost its taste and soon they agreed to call it a night. When the waiter came with the check, Erik stopped her and pulled out a few euro bills. She suspected the money was stolen but somehow she didn't care to gave him a lecture about it.

Calling an Uber, she first had him drop her at her own flat which was closer, then set up the ride for Rue Scribe. When the cab disappeared behind the corner, Erik snuck into the fifth cellar and from there he took his way to the house on the lake.

Neither of them could find rest that night.

* * *

 **Relationships are some complicated shit, especially triangles**

 **Next chapter: Erik and Carlotta deal with the aftermath of their little make-out session. Meanwhile, a bet with Daroga adds up some spice to their relationship**

 **Be so kind and leave a review!**


	6. Chapter 6 - The greatest challenge

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 6 - The greatest challenge**

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Neither Erik nor Carlotta ever mentioned what had transpired between them at the shisha lounge. With time emotions faded and that second kiss, just like first, had become just a blurred memory. They stayed friends as if nothing had ever happened, meeting for lunch and sometimes running into each other at random. Days flew by rather uneventful until a chance encounter with Daroga brought a new element into the mix.

Erik and Carlotta were sitting at their usual table at the Opera Restaurant, having their daily actuality lesson over some lunch when the guard approached them.

"Hello children," he said with a smile. "Mind if I join you?"

"Please, have a sit Monsieur Daroga." Carlotta pointed to a free chair.

Erik just sneered, "Children?"

"I'd like to remind you," Daroga said, sitting down, "that in the current state of things I'm probably good ten years your senior."

"I'm two hundred years old or so."

"But you look like thirty-five and act like fifteen."

Erik looked daggers at him but before he could bicker back, Carlotta shushed him

"Stop it you two!" she huffed.

Silence fell for a moment as they all picked on their food, then Daroga spoke again.

"Tell me, dear," he addressed Carlotta, "how're your lessons going?"

"Very well actually," the girl replied merrily. "Erik is a very attentive student," she praised.

She was honestly astounded by Erik's capacity to learn. He was able to memorize in a single go massive amounts of detailed information, making her suspect he had an eidetic memory. Not to mention he understood some really complex concepts like advanced medicine, molecular physics or simply the inner workings of technology. On top of that, he was genuinely curious: he didn't only learn because he had to, he also wanted to. She let him keep her iPad for the time being, the device being fairly redundant since she still had her laptop and phone, and she bet that by now his head held almost as much information and the whole internet.

"I give him ten in all the subjects," Carlotta said drawing a parallel to the Italian school grading system, "but barely a pass in personal conduct." In fact, just like an autistic child whose beautiful mind is both his gift and his curse, in all his brilliance Erik sometimes failed to grasp simple ideas that were at the very base of human society.

Daroga let out a little chuckle. "Let me guess, he keeps calling you a toad?"

"Among other things," Carlotta muttered.

Really, she didn't mind the toad anymore, finding that most of the times it sounded like an endearment rather than an offense. She was more preoccupied with Erik's growing grudge against the phangirls, the everlasting unwillingness to get out of the Opera House and above all the stealing. She had addressed the topic with him once and the heated conversation that followed made her realize yet another undeniable truth. Erik, for as alive as he was physically, was, in fact, nothing but a ghost. He had no ID, no postal address, no bank account, no security number. To the world outside he didn't exist.

There was nothing to do about it, Erik belonged in Palais Garnier and there he would stay. She would, however, like to see him on stage one day, singing and playing and being recognized for his work with public's cheer and a round sum. He'd already spent one life cast away, she really didn't want that to happen again.

"Is it true what they say," Daroga's question brought Carlotta out of her reverie, "that La Debonnaire is retiring soon?"

Carlotta nodded. "It's been confirmed that she's pregnant. The fourth month I think. She doesn't really show much yet but she's constantly sick and Julianne keeps on taking her gigs. They, however, plan on announcing her leave only at the end of the season."

"Who knows, perhaps you'll be our new prima donna?"

Erik's loud snort made both Daroga and Carlotta turn his direction.

"What?" the guard gruffed. "Carlotta is la Debonnaire's understudy along with Julianne. It's only plausible that she'd be considered."

"Really Daroga?" Erik rolled his eyes in disdain. "The little toad a prima donna? I'll sooner grow a nose."

Now the toad certainly didn't sound endearing.

"I'd like to remind you," Carlotta said coldly, "that I am in fact a trained professional. I've been to the conservatory where I actually did very well. I've always been very praised by all of my teachers."

"They must've all been either deaf or dumb."

Carlotta looked at Daroga with pleading eyes. She'd had had enough of the damn phantom teasing her about her presumably awful singing. She'd performed at La Scala and now at none less that Opera Garnier. She couldn't really be that bad!

She had hoped Daroga would say that she really sang beautifully and Erik was being unjust, letting his dislike for her great great grandma have too much impact on his judgment of her skill. She certainly didn't expect the guard's next suggestion.

"If you're so smart _maestro_ ," he mocked, "why don't _you_ teach Carlotta to sing?"

Erik almost choked on his potatoes. "What?!"

"They say that Christine sounded like a broken hinge until she met you. Allegedly your tutelage makes miracles," Daroga teased on, "but I'm starting to think it's all just idle chatter."

"I could make anyone sing like an angel if I only wished to," Erik assured him.

"Show me then."

"I'm not teaching her."

"Um, excuse me guys," Carlotta tried to interrupt, annoyed by being treated like she wasn't even there. "Don't you think I should get a word on the matter?"

The two men ignored her completely.

"I bet you a hundred euros you couldn't make her sing any better than she already does!" Daroga laughed at Erik.

"Get your money ready Daroga," the ghost retorted, "because by the end of the season you'll hear her sing the lead like she never had before!"

"Guys!" Carlotta had to shout to finally get their attention. "I'm not up for this."

Both men looked at her in confusion.

"Mademoiselle Giudicelli," Daroga said, "don't you want to become prima donna?"

Of course she wanted to become prima donna but she didn't want it to happen because Erik conveniently got her rival out of the picture, perhaps by dropping something heavy on her head. Not to mention she had no wish to give him a legitimate excuse to criticize her all the time. The occasional nasty comment she let slip but if she had to take it every day she'd go insane.

"I don't want Erik to teach me," she said with clear unease.

"You'll be fine. It's not like you're some ingenue who can't stand up to our dear ghost here."

That was the point! She wasn't his precious little ingenue that he'd gladly teach with patience and gentleness. She was the great great granddaughter of his past enemy, and no matter how well they got along, he'd always see her as nothing more but a mere copy of the much-hated diva. No matter how well she sang, he'd always cut her to bits just because she was who she was.

Shaking her head she repeated, "I really don't want to do this."

She crossed eyes with Erik, hoping he'd back her up but he only said, "No worries little toad, we'll soon show this nonbeliever what we can do." There was such strong resolve in his voice and Carlotta already knew that, now that Daroga had turned his innocent idea into a dare, there was no way in heaven or hell that Erik would let her get out of this. He'd squeeze every last agonizing note out of her throat just to show the guard that there was indeed no limits to his musical genius.

"I think I'll leave you now dear children." Daroga got up his seat and ran away, leaving them alone to discuss further action.

"An hour in the evening?" Erik suggested. An hour was little in his opinion but he remembered what Carlotta had said once about letting him have no more than that after work and decided not to push it.

Ignoring the churning in her gut, Carlotta said, "Meet me after work in the Salon du Chant."

"Very well," he agreed.

"See you later then."

So it began. Just as agreed the two of them met almost every night in the Salon du Chant to have a lesson but instead of making any actual progress they only grew more and more frustrated with each other.

Erik quickly realized the little toad didn't lie about her training. She knew all there was to know about voice control and was able to put that into practice. Technically she was very good, very precise. She hardly ever hit the wrong note. Her voice wasn't bad either. Just like her great great grandma she had a crystal clear throat that produced a powerful, vibrant sound. Her range was fairly wide and she had a good pitch. Then why did she sound so plainly?

He tried it all, from scales to full arias, but nothing worked. Every time Carlotta opened her mouth to sing the outcome would be mediocre at most. In theory, there was no fault to her performance but she transmitted no emotion. She was like a mannequin with build in a perfect vocal system, allowing it to sing but never to feel the song. Reprimands didn't help. If anything they only made the soprano grow more and more uncooperative. Eventually, he gave up on bashing her so much, just pointing out the actual mistakes she made, if she ever happened to make any. It helped their encounters carry on in a more relaxed atmosphere but it did nothing to Carlotta's virtual lack of stage charisma. He was failing, he knew it, but he'd rather die a second time than admit his defeat to Daroga.

Deciding that Carlotta's problem certainly lay somewhere other than her vocal training, he began to watch her, looking for clues. Without her knowing, he hung around during her daily rehearsals, taking notice of the relationships she held with various people at the opera and finding nothing that would really explain her inner coldness. He then observed her more closely, especially in the moments when she was alone, and when he was beginning to suspect she may be justempty-headedd he finally stumbled upon something.

Carlotta had stayed in late, likely waiting for the storm raging outside to subside, and she just sat on the sofa in her room, reading a book. She'd taken her shoes off and pulled her feet underneath her, the position making her dress travel up and reveal bare skin up to her upper thigh.

Watching her from behind the mirror, Erik felt the monster inside him stir. It had been easy to control his natural instincts back in the 1800s when women dressed up to their neck but now it actually took some effort, especially when it came to this torment of an italian soprano with her exquisite outfits that, staying classy, always revealed just enough to make his imagination run wild.

A whistle cut the silence and Carlotta checked her phone. As she read the message her cheeks flushed a little but then her expression saddened. She stared at the phone with watery eyes, her thumb hovering over the screen, as if she pondered what to write in reply, or even whether to do it at all.

Behind the mirror Erik was dying to know who had send her the text and what is said. Judging from her reaction it was someone important to her. It was certainly someone she had some feelings for. Her face had said it all.

Suddenly the lights went out and Carlotta swore under her breath. Retrieving a pocket torch from her bag she left the room, perhaps to get some candles, leaving her phone on the sofa.

Erik couldn't believe his luck. Sneaking into the room he took the device and checked for any recent messages. It took him a minute before he found a new conversation on WhatsApp. The number was saved simply as Antonio.

Making sure all was still and quiet he opened the conversation. There was only one incoming message: _Ciao tesoro, come stai? Da quando te ne sei andata non faccio che pensare a te. Mi manchi troppo._ The text was in italian but he understood it just fine. The man called Carlotta a treasure, which was a typical italian endearment, and wrote he missed her and badly so. He kept on thinking about her ever since she'd left. All of that suggested the two of them were friends, or perhaps even more than that.

There was a faint sound of steps coming from behind the door. Leaving the phone where he took it, Erik hid behind the mirror just in time before Carlotta entered the room, candle in hand. Setting it on the vanity, she took her phone again and stared at it for several minutes before typing something in reply and swtiching the screen off with a heavy sigh.

Ever since he knew her, Erik had never seen Carlotta date or even openly flirt with anyone and he'd come to think of her as his exclusive possession. Now it dawned on him that the little toad had a life outside the Opera House and very likely a young suitor, or should he rather say boyfriend, and surprisingly enough the thought filled him with a familiar sensation of dread.

* * *

 **Next chapter: Ever wondered what would POTO sound like sung by the real deal Erik? Carlotta finds out and she's impressed.**

 **There's no better way to have Erik do something than tell him he couldn't do it, don't you agree?**

 **And who exactly is Antonio and what does he have to do with anything?**


	7. Chapter 7 - Angel of Music

**A/N:** Has any of you ever wondered how PotO would sound sung by the real phantom? Well, I have.

Btw, before you read I'd recommend that you listen to the awesome **violin PotO medley by Lindsey Stirling** which greatly inspired this chapter.

 **Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 7 - Angel of Music**

* * *

Christine Labelle de Beaumont had first heard of the Phantom of the Opera at the sweet age of six when, joining a new ballet class, she met Megan Gale.

Little Meg, as everyone called the gaunt brunette girl, lived with her grandparents in a dusty old apartment in Montmartre. Her grandma liked to read a lot and drawing inspiration from her books, she told her granddaughter the most incredible bedtime stories. One evening she told her the tale of a haunted theater, an orphaned young singer who was visited by an angel, a nobleman willing to give up everything for love and a disfigured musical genius forced to hide underground.

The story got so impressed in little Meg's mind that when a couple months later she met a pale blonde named Christine, she immediately made the connection. She told her new friend the full story, pointing out how funny it was that the two of them were named just like the characters and even bore some resemblance to them. Christine was thrilled and the two girls often liked to pretend they were really Christine Daaè and Meg Giry and that there was a ghost living underneath their ballet school.

Years passed by, the girls grew and soon forgot about their childhood pastime, becoming more and more busy with school, boys and obviously their ballet training. That was until, thanks to the connections of Madame Labelle de Beaumont who in her youth used to be a ballerina, they were both admitted to join the prestigious ballet program at the Paris Opera.

It wasn't long after they arrived at Palais Garnier that they heard of the Opera Ghost. Every time something odd happened people would say, "It's must've been Erik!" and it soon became clear that by Erik they meant no other but the infamous phantom. Yet when in the two years they spent at the Opera House the girls never ran into anything supernatural, they figured it was all just a game of pretending, sort of like the one they used to play when they were kids. That was until one day Christine heard a voice.

She had been hanging with Philippe, her new boyfriend, and was late for class so coming to the Opera, she changed in a flash and was just about to join in with the others when she heard someone call her name. The voice appeared to be coming from within the walls of the empty dressing room which got her spooked at first, but then she recalled the talk of the phantom going on around the House and replied back. This way she met Erik.

They continued seeing each other - although seeing may not be the right term to put it as Erik never really showed up and only talked to her through the wall - but their encounters were rather rare, her tight schedules giving her little to no possibilities to find a moment alone while she was at the Opera. He always stayed in her mind though. Laying in bed she often imagined the tall figure dressed in black and masked in white finally coming to her in the flesh to carry her through the mirror into the depths of the Opera House where he'd help her into his gondola and take her to his lair illuminated by hundreds of candles to make sweet love to her in the swan-shaped bed. She never told anyone about any of this except for Meg who didn't believe her anyway.

"Must be a prank," the dark-haired ballerina said reasonably when Christine had finally confessed her secret. "You'd better watch it, " she warned. "Madame is getting really annoyed with you for being late to class all the time."

"No Meg," Christine cried, "it's all for real. The phantom exists and he's here for me," she added dreamily.

Meg gave her a pitiful look. "Chris, I know it feels great to be in the middle of some crazy adventure but things like that don't happen in real life. Someone is just making fun of you."

"You heard the rumors."

"Rumors are just that: rumors. There is no ghost."

"People saw him," Christine argued. "There's pictures on Instagram." She opened the app and typed _#thephantomoftheopera_ , then clicked on one of the photos and showed it to Meg.

The brunette girl looked at the phone and rose a brow. The picture, posted just a couple weeks earlier, was an interior shot of Palais Garnier and in the far background, one could spot a slender masked figure. The caption underneath read: _That feeling when you go to #Paris and run into #thephantomoftheopera._ A list of fancy hashtags followed.

"See?" Christine said winningly. "There's more of these. Not a single portrait but this guy often appears in the background of some recent photos shot here at the Opera."

Meg shook her head. "Chris, whatever you believe this is not the phantom. It's just a guy who pretends to be him, you know for the tourists."

Christine crossed her arms. "No! I don't believe that!"

"His name really is Erik but it must be a coincidence. I think he's the boyfriend of one of the singers. They always have lunch together in the restaurant. Look here," Meg showed Christine a different shot, "it must be the two of them at that table."

Christine took a look at the picture and huffed. That wasn't Erik! That was just some random guy in a mask. The person _she_ met was the real deal. She was certain of it, or was she?

There actually was one thing about Erik that got Christine doubting: he didn't sing. That is to say, he didn't sing what he was supposed to sing. True, they never had much time but when one time she intoned " _Ange de la musique, découvre-toi; Étrange et pur esprit…_ " she expected him to reply in a similar fashion. Instead, he just mumbled something that sounded like "Seriously? This is absurd," and then just bid her goodbye. She tried it again a few more times but he never sang back.

Honestly, Erik thought every time Christine tried to prompt him to talk to her in ALW's lyrics, did people think he sang out all of his thoughts and to the music written a few decades after he died? Well, the phans likely did, judging from their usual screeching around the house, but he didn't really expect such mindlessness from Christine. On the other hand, considering how famous the musical about him was, it was inevitable that people would associate those songs with his humble persona.

In the current state of things, his chances at Christine were even slimmer than in the past. She only came to the House for a few hours a day to attend to ballet training before she'd be snatched away by her mother. Hopefully, once she was eighteen and out of an institution called high school, she'd be more independent and likely training at the Opera full time, giving him more opportunities to approach her. For the time being he could only try to befriend her, laying a solid foundation for their future relationship, and if it was to be of any help then be it, he'd learn to sing the "Phantom".

Going back to his lair, he stopped by the stage for a moment to listen to Carlotta rehearse. They were doing Verdi's "Rigoletto" that night and she was understudying for Julianne as Gilda. Despite all his efforts she still sang just as emotionlessly as ever.

When he later came to attend to the opera, he couldn't focus on the performance. His mind kept on going back to Christine and the bloody musical so halfway through the second act he just gave up and left. Sneaking into Carlotta's dressing room, he took her tablet along with a pair of headphones and borrowing a heavy cloak from the costume closet, he retreated to the roof. There he nested under the statue of Apollo's Lyre, where he knew he could somehow catch free wifi from the nearby hotel, and googled: _phantom of the opera musical_.

Thanks to the phans, he knew Leroux' work had inspired a musical, which had eventually been turned into a movie, but he couldn't imagine the authors had taken so many the artistic liberties with the story. In most of the productions he came by, Christine was inexplicably sporting a wild mane of dark cursl, Raoul had lost his moustache, not to mention a brother, Meg was blonde and a bit too curvy, especially for a ballerina, Madame Giry from a simple box keeper had suddenly become a ballet teacher and his foster mom, poor Carlotta was generally portrayed as old and fat but in return she'd been given a pet dog, Daroga was nowhere to be seen, and on top of that, _he_ was handsome! A bit mangled, but still handsome! Now it was pretty clear why the phans tormented him so! They thought he was a sexy hunk in a mask!

Plot aside, the music wasn't bad. When performed by people who could actually sing, it was quite captivating, and if he ever failed to notice, it was likely the fault of the phans who would even make his "Don Juan" sound like the howling of a dying dog. The lyrics were pleasant too and he had no trouble memorizing them or even adjusting bits and pieces to serve his own needs.

When he finally began to feel cold and decided he'd better go back downstairs, it was already past midnight. That said he was pretty surprised when, coming back to Carlotta's dressing room to leave the iPad and the headphones, he saw the led lights around her mirror were still on. He imagined she just forgot to turn them off but then he saw her inside and remembered there had been a small reception planned for after the show. It appeared that this time Carlotta had decided to attend.

He thought she wouldn't notice him lurking in the shadows of the antechamber but then she perked her head up and looking around she called, "Erik? Are you in there?"

He didn't reply, only crept deeper into the shadow.

Carlotta shook her head in denial and muttered, "I'm getting obsessed"

She looked like a bride in that flowing white lace dress that made her entire figure seem to glow against the dim background of the dressing room. Her hair was up but she began to unpin it, letting it fall in soft waves on her back. Working, she quietly sang a familiar tune, " _Di sotto all'Opera, lui vive lì, sul palco è con me, lo sento qui..."_

Erik's jaw dropped. He'd heard Carlotta sing the most dramatic of pieces sounding as dull as an automaton but in those few simple notes she'd expressed a full spectrum of emotions: fear, excitement, hope. Whatever force had been holding her back was now gone, swallowed by the velvety darkness of the night.

Ever so softly, the soprano sang on, " _Il canto volerà, soltanto se Fantasma dell'Opera è qui, insieme a me..."_

Erik felt his heart flutter. How the hell did the little toad do that? The answer seemed obvious: she was inspired. Inspired by him. The idea of him being there, watching, didn't freeze her in fear. It lit her up and now that he knew it, he'd keep her burning until she'd take the whole Paris in flames.

An idea popped into his mind and before it would be too late to act her retrieved a tiny smoke bomb out of his pocket and threw it to the ground. It exploded with a bang and Carlotta jumped off her seat, dropping all of her hairpins on the floor.

As she watched the room getting filled with thick white smoke, the organ notes of the _Phantom Song_ resounded in her head. A deep tenor sang, " _La notte è un brivido intorno a te, follia recondita che invoca me,"_ and she shivered.

Was that Erik? She'd never really heard him sing before, let alone in Italian, but she could think of no one else that would be able to produce so terrifyingly seductive a sound.

The voice, which seemed to come from within the walls of the room itself, continued, " _Sei in mio potere ormai, e sai ben' che Fantasma dell'Opera è qui, insieme a te."_

She glimpsed a masked face before it disappeared into the mist like a mirage. She asked, " _Sei qui Fantasma dell'Opera?"_

He replied, " _Sono il tuo angelo, vieni…"_

What the hell was Erik at? Intrigued, she walked through the smoke outside her dressing room and into the dark corridor.

" _Angelo, guida la mia voce, dammi la tua gloria,"_ she implored, joining in the game.

" _Vieni, sarò il tuo angelo…"_ he taunted her, hiding in the shadows, his voice coming as her only guide.

She begged him to show up, " _Mostrati a me, fa che ti veda, svelami il tuo incanto!"_

" _Troppo hai vagato nel vento,"_ he answered in lyrics, finally stepping into her line of sight, " _troppo lontana da me…"_

Walking towards him, she continued, " _Anche se sembra sbagliato…"_

He sighed, " _Non resisto..._ "

" _... io voglio te!_ " she concluded on a high note that bounced off the walls of the empty auditorium before a heavy silence fell upon them both.

Erik stared at Carlotta in astonishment. Had she just sang she wanted him? The mere idea seemed ludicrous!

The girl felt her cheeks burn shamefully. She couldn't believe she just sang out loud that secret desire she didn't even dare to admit to herself. She wanted him. She wanted his appreciation, his admiration, his love.

Music began to play in her mind again and taking a step towards the ghost, she made up her courage and sang, " _Pensami, pensami mentre io non dormirò, tu pensami, vorrei scordarti ma non potro mai,"_ telling him through music how she felt about him, how she spent many restless nights tossing and turning in bed thinking about him. " _Rimpiangerò tutte le cose che tu noi hai fatto insieme a me, ogni ora che vivrò, io penserò a te…"_

She was forced to finish softly when Erik joined in, his strong tenor overlapping over her gentle soprano, " _Ascolta questa musica per noi!"_

Before she knew it he was at her side and pulling her into his arms.

" _Quando brami strane tentazioni, quando vuoi oscure sensazioni,_ " he sang in her ear and she would've sworn that, embed in his unearthly voice, she heard the sound of electric guitar, bass, and violin.

Taking her by the hand, he made her turn around and wrapped one arm around her waist, the other gripping possessively at her throat.

" _Nella notte senti immensi sogni ardenti, quell'immagine d'amore che tu vuoi."_

The soft notes caressed her like a lover's touch and closing her eyes, she melted against his chest.

He made her turn to face him again, then concluded _fortissimo,_ " _Può tutto questa musica per NOI!"_ , reminding her that in the end, he was a creature of the darkness.

Extending her arm towards him, she cried, " _Angelo, il buio ti ghermisce!_ "

He stalked towards her, eyes blazing. " _Mai non ebbi libertà, male e odio intorno a me…"_ he reminded her about his past life, that life that had made him what he was. " _Chi provò per me pietà? Dimmi il mostro qui chi è?"_

Was he really a monster? Was he a phantom? No, he was just a man. A strange brilliant man with a masked face.

" _Chi vide il volto tuo poi ne impazzi,"_ she sang in reprise, " _a me lo mascheri..."_

He took over placing her hand over her racing heart. " _Mi vedi qui..."_

Lost in the fantasy, they continued together, " _In quel labirinto che m/t'inghiotte ormai, Fantasma nella mia mente sei/è, e rimarrà(i)!"_

" _Canta per l'Angelo della Musica!" h_ e called out in a way that would make Webber swoon.

She intoned, " _E' lui il Fantasma dell'Opera!"_

" _Canta per il tuo Angelo!"_

She took a deep breath and sang on.

" _Canta per me!"_

She got higher and higher, until she hit that final note and fell back into his embrace, spent like a burnt-out candle. Carefully he steadied her on her feet and taking her face in his hands he looked her deep in the eyes. She parted her lips in anticipation but the kiss never came. Instead, he only whispered, "See little toad, this is how I want you to sing."

* * *

 **A/N: I decided to do the lyrics in Italian because 1. Carlotta is Italian so it only seems logical that she'd be singing in Italian and 2. PotO sounds even more awesome in Italian. The lyrics mostly correspond to those of the Italian version of the musical with some minor variations. Also, the first verse Carlotta sings is actually an Italian adaptation of the Brightman version.**

 **Next chapter: looks like Erik figured out a way to make Carlotta sing better. Will she get the lead in the next production? Or will something, or someone, stop her?**


	8. Chapter 8 - Indecent proposal

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 8 - Indecent proposal**

* * *

Carlotta couldn't deny it anymore: she had developed a rather unhealthy infatuation for the Opera Ghost. She knew well enough Erik was ugly as sin under his mask and he called her a toad and picked on her all the time, but he just made her feel so special. When someone referred to her as the Phantom's girl she beamed with pride and whenever she thought of him her heart rose and she sang like she hadn't in a very long time.

They were currently rehearsing "Othello", which was due to premiere at the beginning of December, and with Erik at her side as the Moor of Venice, she voiced out Desdemona's dramas as if they were her own.

"Bravo!" he praised her when the last note died on her lips. His yellow eyes twinkled and she bet he smiled under the full black mask he'd put on for the occasion.

There was a clapping sound, and a slightly lisping voice said, "Bravo indeed!".

Turning around, Erik eyed the person who dared intrude on their music lesson. It was a rather corpulent man of about fifty, with dark blond curly hair, plump lips, and small watery eyes.

"So you must be the infamous Opera Ghost," he addressed Erik, strolling leisurely across the Salon. "I've heard some interesting stories on your account." Truly, the gossip about the ghost, which presumably was no other than Leroux' phantom, were often so fantastic that borderline on the absurd.

"Looks like my reputation precedes me," the ghost drawled back.

"Erik," Carlotta cut in, "this is Monsieur Thibault. He's the Opera's Acting Manager."

"I know perfectly who he is," he rebuked. This pig in a suit was responsible for the season program and cast choice, as well as anything else that pertained to the artistic aspects of running an Opera House.

Thibault squinted his eyes. "I don't believe we've met before," he commented.

"We didn't, but you could expect Erik to know the people who run _his_ Opera House."

In fact, while he may have remained oblivious to the matters of the Opera while he was a real ghost, ever since he was reborn Erik took the time to learn as much as he could about the people at Palais Garnier and he knew enough about Thibault to despise him already.

"I must say," the Manager went on, poring over Erik's dark silhouette, "I expected you to be more…" he stopped to search for the right term, "spooky."

After all he'd heard on his account, he thought the Phantom would be something out of a horror movie while being very lean, he wasn't exactly skeletal, his skin was simply pale rather than yellow and his eyes looked as if he were just wearing a pair of those crazy contacts you could buy online. If you added that he wore regular pants, a sweater and a pair of Adidas sneakers, save for the mask that covered his entire face or what was left of it, he looked like just any other guy.

"Is there any particular reason why you decided to interrupt us?" Erik asked not even trying to sound polite.

"Why the vocal talent of this lovely young lady of course!" Thibault exclaimed in delight, turning to Carlotta. He'd always known the Italian had quite the voice. It had been the reason why he'd appointed her as la Debonnaire's emergency understudy, but tonight she put up a performance worthy of a leading lady.

"It's all thanks to Erik," the soprano said, glancing at the ghost with suspicious warmth.

Watching the scene the Manager was pervaded with a funny sense of deja vu. "Mon Dieu," he chuckled, "should I expect any dropping chandeliers in the next future?"

"I have never exactly dropped it in the first place," Erik replied stepping closer to Carlotta and placing his skinny palms on her shoulders in an almost possessive gesture, "but shall I ever need to resort to such drastic means of persuasion, it could be easily arranged."

Thibault broke into a hysterical laugh. "That won't be necessary," he said, retracting slowly towards the door. "After hearing Mademoiselle Giudicelli sing tonight I'm seriously considering giving her the lead."

To be absolutely honest, he'd been considering it for a couple of weeks already. Ever since the opening night of "Rigoletto" when she appeared at the later reception all wrapped up in white lace, immediately stealing everyone's attention, he'd been wondering whether she might be material for a prima donna. She was young, beautiful, with talent to sell, and he now also had a strong suspicion she might be the kind of girl willing to do just about anything for fame, even mingle with that abomination of the phantom.

"I shouldn't interrupt you any further," he said, leaving the Salon du Chant. "Sing like that on the audition," he addressed Carlotta, "and you might actually become the new Desdemona."

When they were left alone, Erik growled, "Can I punjab him?"

"No," Carlotta replied in a tone which suggested she'd gladly do it herself. There was just something about Thibault that filled her with skin-crawling disgust, and judging from Erik's reaction to him, he shared the feeling.

"Come, I'll walk you to your dressing room," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her towards the door.

She didn't shy away, instead placing her own arm around his waist as they walked through the now dark hallways. It was happening quite often lately, that mutual exchange of some small affectionate gestures, and he was slowly wrapping his mind around the idea that someone, a woman none the less, might enjoy being touched by him as if he were just another human being and not some hideous monster.

They have reached the dressing room and while Carlotta put on her boots, coat, and scarf, Erik just waited, ogling her iPhone that lay on the vanity. He knew that she and Antonio had been exchanging some messages and wondered whether there were any new ones he might want to read. From what he'd learned so far the two of them used to be a couple until Carlotta's sudden decision to move to Paris put an end to their relationship. Judging by their text exchange on WhatsApp he was still in love with her but she seemed to be over it, to his great relief.

When Carlotta was ready to go, he insisted on escorting her out despite the biting winter cold.

"You don't have to walk me all the way down," she said.

He put up a hurt face. "If you wish to get rid of Erik's company, all you need to do is say so."

" _Ma dai!_ " She rolled her eyes. I'm just worried you're gonna catch a cold."

"I have never caught a cold in my entire life," he said, trying his best not to shiver in only his sweater.

"Right," she sneered. "At least put this on." She took her scarf off and wrapped it around his neck.

"No," he objected, tugging at the offending garment, "you have to keep your throat warm unless you want to croak like a real toad," but when she gave him a glare, fixing her coat collar up so her neck was entirely covered, he eventually gave up.

In a few minutes, they reached the station and Erik followed Carlotta all the way down into the harshly lit platform, not caring if anyone noticed his mask or asked him for a ticket which he obviously didn't have. Their earlier run-in with Thibault had awoken in him some sort of protective instinct towards the little toad and he wanted to make sure she got home safe and sound.

"Take care of yourself," he told her over the noise of the train rolling into the platform and when she made a tentative move towards him he took the hint and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"See you tomorrow," she cheered jumping onto the train at the last moment before the doors closed.

He'd forgotten to give her back her scarf and walking back to the Opera he wrapped it tighter around his neck and face, smelling her perfume still lingering around the soft material. He later left it in her dressing room so she could collect it the next day, but the intoxicating scent seemed to stay with him even after he descended into the cellars.

That night he dreamt of her and waking up in the morning showing evident signs of arousal he was overwhelmed by a stinging sense of guilt. Carlotta had never been anything but nice to him and he hated himself for even thinking about hurting her like that. Without dwindling much he prepared himself a bath and jumped right in, the icy water effectively cooling his hot spirits down. When he eventually got out he was trembling like a leaf.

"Told you you'd catch a cold!" Carlotta scolded him when by lunch the shivers didn't pass and he suspected that had he had a nose he'd be sneezing every minute.

"It's nothing," he assured her, thanking his luck for having a legitimate excuse for getting sick. The last thing he wanted was to explain to her why would he need to take a cold bath.

Carlotta felt honestly bad about Erik. She couldn't help thinking he'd gotten sick because of her so intent on making it up for him somehow, once she was done with work, she made a quick run to the closest drugstore to get him something.

She was running late for her appointed lesson and waiting for her in the Salon du Chant, Erik was getting more and more anxious. Strange thoughts began popping into his mind, many of them involving Thibault, but then Carlotta finally walked in, a steaming mug in hand.

"Drink this," she ordered.

He eyed the mug suspiciously. "What is this?" he asked. The contents looked like a yellow tea and smelled faintly of lemon and cannelle and something else he couldn't quite discern.

"Fervex," she said. "For your cold."

"I'm fine," he argued.

She crossed her arms. "You're sick," she said in an indisputable tone, "and I'd rather not catch it from you, so be a good boy and take your medicine."

That was an argument Erik couldn't refute so with a sour face he forced some of the drink down his throat.

"I'll leave you the remaining packets," Carlotta continued. "You should take two per day and possibly lay in bed for some time. Do you have any warm blankets downstairs? If not then perhaps," she paused in hesitation, "perhaps you could come stay at my place until you get better?"

Erik almost splurted out his drink. "I have the blankets," he lied. He used to have many but they stunk of old and he didn't even dare imagine what was going on with them when he was dead so he just threw them away. He'd have to arrange himself with what he currently had.

"Perhaps we'd better suspend our lessons for a few days," he suggested, "you know, just to make sure you don't get sick too."

Carlotta agreed and for the next few days, he only watched over her from afar, wrapped in three sweaters and a cloak and sipping on his Fervex. The stuff was kind of tasty and if he drank a lot it made him feel blissfully dizzy. Taking a packet every other hour by the end of the week he had the drugstore nearby literally run out of it. Thanks to the numbing properties of the drug he slept like a log and inadvertently slept through the final audition for "Othello".

La Debonnaire showed up but when she had a fainting episode in the middle of the aria Thibault advised her she gave up on pretending she was still prima donna and just went home to rest. Julianne was next and she sang really well, proving herself to be an excellent candidate for the role. Finally, it was Carlotta's turn and pretending her song could reach Erik even in the depths below she gave the best of herself.

When the auditions ended Thibault announced he'd post the names of the chosen cast within the day and everyone was dismissed.

As people were leaving the stage the manager approached Carlotta and said quietly, "Would you please join me in my office. I'd like to discuss your future career with you."

A cold shiver run down Carlotta's spine but she nodded yes and followed Thibault upstairs.

"I must say I'm rather impressed by the recent improvement of your singing skills," he said, offering her a chair.

"Thank you Monsieur," she replied politely, sitting down. "I have been working on my singing a lot lately."

"You've been taking lessons from the Phantom?" Thibault laughed.

Carlotta seemed offended by his humor. "He really is a musical genius Monsieur," she assured. "He can play several instruments like a _virtuoso_ and his voice is plain mind-blowing. If you only allowed him a chance to perform-"

"Hush," Thibault didn't let her finish. "We're not here to talk about our masked friend but about you _ma cherie_." Pacing slowly around the desk, he continued, "Julianne is an excellent performer but you are just as good, if not better. You could be the primadonna," he was now standing behind her chair, "all you really have to do…" he placed his hands on her shoulders like the ghost had done a few days earlier, "... is ask."

Carlotta had to suppress a repulsed shiver when she felt the Manager's sweaty palms graze her skin. "I would obviously like to take the lead," she said as diplomatically as possible, "but only when I sing well enough to deserve it."

Thibault laughed and his hands squeezed tighter. "You must know Mademoiselle," he whispered hovering above her ear, "that it doesn't just take a great voice to be a diva. Sometimes it's necessary to employ a little persuasion."

Carlotta swallowed hard. She knew exactly what kind of persuasion Thibault was on about. She'd heard rumors about Julianne sleeping with him in order to get and keep her position but she never believed them. She could sing magnificently so why would she need to resort to such means? Well, now she knew exactly why! As for her, she'd rather die a mere chorus girl than have sex with that pig!

"If my performance tonight hasn't persuaded you enough," she said with a cold calm, slipping out of her chair, "then I don't think anything else should."

"You were both equally good," Thibault said, squinting his eyes in rising anger. "Which one of you will sing the lead relies exclusively on my personal fancy."

"Chose the one you like better then," Carlotta spat before running out of the office.

Just as she expected Julianne had been assigned to sing Desdemona but knowing what it had likely cost her Carlotta didn't feel envious. It only pained her to see Erik's disappointed face when she told him she didn't make it.

"What happened?" he asked when he finally emerged from his hideout just to find out the audition was long over.

"I think I must have caught a little bit of cold too," she lied, speaking in a slightly nasal voice on purpose and even faking some sniffing to back it up. "I couldn't utter one clear note."

Erik's face fell. "Erik is so sorry," he muttered. "It's all his fault. Hadn't he let himself think of you in such improper ways he wouldn't have gotten sick and transmitted it to you"

She didn't even dare inquire what improper ways he was talking about, hating herself for making him feel guilty in the first place when he was without fault, but she couldn't tell him what had really happened. If he found out he'd surely go and kill Thibault on the spot and with that get himself rotting in jail for aggravated murder. She couldn't allow it. She'd hurt him, lie to him, anything to make sure he was out of harm's way.

* * *

 **How did you like Erik getting sick and high on Fervex? Honestly, this stuff really works like that cause every time I catch a cold I drink lots of it and then wander around looking and feeling as if I were stoned xD**

 **Next chapter: Carlotta takes Erik on a whole new adventure. He'd have his new share of first-timers, meet some new people and a lovely kitten. Stay tuned!**


	9. Chapter 9 - Unexpected invitation

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 9 - Unexpected invitation**

* * *

"Say, if the situation absolutely required it, would you ever take your mask off?"

Erik lifted his eyes from the soup and gave Carlotta a watchful glare. "I do take it off when the situation requires it," he said slowly, "for example when I shower."

The girl fidgeted, clearly unsure how to speak out whatever she had on her mind. "I meant, would you take it off in front of another person?" she finally spat out.

The spoon stopped halfway to Erik's mouth. "I refuse to ever show you my face and if you even attempt to rip my mask off there will be severe consequences."

"No, no, no!" Carlotta tried to cool the ghost's rising temper. "I don't want to sneak peek at your face, I know what it looks like from the book anyways."

Erik let out a snort. She knew from the book! Ha! It was one thing to read about something and another to actually see for yourself!

"I rather meant someone like a doctor or perhaps a policeman, and assuming it actually served some higher purpose."

"The only purpose it could possibly serve would either be to entertain some gore loving crowds or scare small children out of their minds."

"So your answer is no?"

"That's correct."

Carlotta just let out a defeated sigh and didn't further drag on the subject but the more Erik thought about it, the more he was convinced that the unexpected question was part of some wicked plan forming in her lovely little head. About four weeks later his suspicions were confirmed.

They were taking a lazy stroll across the backstage after their usual evening lesson in the Salon du Chant when Carlotta announced all of a sudden, "I'm flying to Milan tomorrow, going home for Christmas."

"Thibault let you?" Erik asked, surprised. The last performance was on the 25th.

The soprano sneered, "I'm just a chorus girl, one of many. They can easily do without me."

He just nodded, making a mental note to take care that Carlotta's career progressed. Blackmailing Thibault would be pointless as the man neither feared nor respected him, but he could always persuade Julianne to take a timely sick leave.

"Anyways," Carlotta went on, "I've been thinking, how about you come with me?"

Erik wasn't sure he'd heard it right. "What?"

"Come to Milan with me," Carlotta asked him again. Christmas was first and foremost about being together and she dreaded the thought of Erik spending it all alone in a deserted Opera House.

"Have you by any chance lost your mind?" the ghost sneered. "How do you expect me to come to Milan with you?"

"Don't worry. I've got it all figured out," Carlotta assured, searching her purse. "I bought you a ticket for the same flight as myself," she handed him a piece of printed paper, "and I used some connections to get you a fake ID. You will need it to get through the airport."

Erik examined the blueish plastic card. It read: Destler, Erik, male, born 21.05.1981 in Rouen, height 1,92 m. The not entirely truthful information he expected but what got him a little perplexed was the photo: it portrayed a complete stranger.

"I can't possibly pass as this guy," he observed.

Carlotta smiled mischievously. "You can if you wear this." She threw him a paper bag.

Erik looked inside and made a disgusted face. There was something floppy that looked like human skin peeled off some poor fellow's head and neck.

"It's an ultra-realistic full head silicone mask," the girl explained. "You have no idea how hard it was to get my hands on it but I figured it was my only option since you said you'd never show your real face to anyone."

"I am truly touched by your thoughtfulness, not to mention amazed by your inventive, but I can't possibly accept your offer."

Carlotta gave him a disappointed look. "Why?"

Why? Was she seriously asking him why?!

"Why can't you come with me Erik?" she repeated when he just stared at her in disbelief. "The plan is foolproof!"

"That's not the point!"

"What is is then?"

He desperately pointed out to himself. "I don't think your family would be too glad to have _me_ around, at Christmas nonetheless!"

Carlotta broke into a relieved laughter. "That's worrying you? How my family will react?"

"Shouldn't it?" Erik rebuked.

"Oh Erik!" she sighed. "We're Italians," she stated simply as it was supposed to mean something, "and mine is a family of actors and musicians who will likely be thrilled to meet someone as talented in the matter as yourself."

"I'm not coming." Erik was unmovable.

Carlotta squinted her eyes dangerously, her temper getting the better of her. "I took great expense at setting it all up because I thought I was doing something nice for you!" she hissed. "I thought you'd actually enjoy spending Christmas like everybody else! I thought that was what you wanted! To be like everybody else!" Speaking, she frantically got her coat and boots on. "Well, looks like I got it all wrong yet again!" With those last words, she stormed out of the room.

Erik was unsure how to react. The little toad had a point there. All he ever wanted was to be like everybody else and now that he was being given a chance for it, he refused it, but how could he not? In what universe would complete strangers welcome _him_ in their home? Then again, crazier things have happened in the past few months.

Battling his thoughts he didn't even realize when he fell asleep on Carlotta's couch. Waking up several hours later, he looked around the empty dressing room and his insides twisted into a knot.

"Erik has to admit it," he told himself, "he'd gotten used to the little toad more than he could ever imagine. He must go after her before it's too late."

" _He'd better not!_ " his reflection in the vanity mirror stopped him. " _Does he meant to ruin her Christmas with his abominable presence!_ "

"Carlotta wants Erik there with her, otherwise she wouldn't ask him to come."

" _She well deserves some time to spend with her family and catch up with old friends_."

"Old friends, you say? Like Antonio?"

" _Yes, like Antonio! The young and handsome Antonio who can offer her so much more than Erik ever could_."

"You're wrong! Erik gave her her voice back, that same voice which Antonio stole away from her. Erik can't let him do it again!" he shouted out loud, frantically grabbing the familiar duffel bag along with the mask and the documents and rushing out of the room.

Locking himself in the nearest bathroom he quickly got himself in order and tried the strange mask Carlotta had brought him on. Checking himself in the mirror he couldn't believe his eyes. The mask twisted in accordance with the muscles underneath to match his facial expression, making it virtually impossible to tell he was wearing one at all. Hadn't he known better he would've really thought it was his own face.

With renewed resolve he threw his stuff back into the bag and ran out, heading for the exit.

"Hey, you!" Daroga's familiar voice stopped him on the way. "Who are you? What are you doing back here?"

"It's me you idiot!"

The guard popped his eyes out. "Erik?" he mumbled checking him out. "What's wrong with your face?"

Really?! Now that he finally looked like a normal person Daroga was asking him what was wrong with his face?! He would've gladly ranted about it, hadn't he had more important things on his mind right now.

"What's the time Daroga?" he huffed breathlessly ignoring the comment about the face.

The guard glanced at his watch. "Half past one p.m. Why?"

Erik checked his ticket nervously. His plane left at 15.25 from Charles de Gaulle airport. For what he knew, he might not make it.

"Hey! What's your rush?" Daroga yelled at his back when he suddenly took off without a word.

Running outside he stopped at the gate and scanned the surroundings for a cab but there were none passing by.

In the meantime, Daroga caught up with him. "Where the hell are you going?!" he asked.

"Airport," he replied. "Get me an Uber!"

Daroga looked at him as if he were crazy. "What... Uber… airport?" he mumbled in confusion. "What are you up to this time?!"

"Dammit, Daroga!" Erik seized him by the shirt. "Carlotta's plane is leaving in two hours' time and I need to get there before it happens so get me that bloody Uber!"

"Okay!" the guard yelled, pushing him off.

When the car arrived good five minutes later, Erik jumped right in.

"Don't do anything stupid!" he heard Daroga say before he shot the door right before his nose.

The ride to the airport seemed to last forever. When the car finally stopped by a huge gray structure Erik shot out and ran towards the terminal. Once inside he found himself at a loss on what to do next. Nervously he checked the ticket, then looked around trying to localize just about anything that would give him a clue. There it was on a tiny screen to the right: Paris-Milan Alitalia 15.25. In a leap he was at the counter throwing his ticket and ID on top, hoping it wasn't too late yet.

"Bonjour Monsieur. You are just in time," the attendant said trying hard to hide her annoyance. "The check in was about to close." She checked his ticket and ID and making sure he had only a hand luggage, she handed him his boarding pass, wished him a good flight and directed him to security control.

The security agent, a large gruff looking guy, scanned Erik's documents. His eyes traveled from the ID to his face, then back to the ID and Erik felt his blood freeze. Would he figure out the scam? Thankfully the man didn't seem to notice anything suspicious, and asking him to take off his belt and place his bag on the tape, he had him go through a metal detector.

There was a little commotion at the X-Ray and another agent, this one female, said, "Sir, will you please open your bag."

Wondering what the hell had them alarmed, Erik unzipped his duffel bag, letting the woman peek inside. She rummaged through his clothes until she came by his mask.

"What's this?" she asked.

Erik rose a brow in contempt. "A mask," he jeered.

The agent squinted her eyes suspiciously. "What do you need it for?"

Really, it was just a damn mask! It wasn't as if he'd brought his lasso!

"I'm planning to go to a mask party," he said the first lie that came to his mind.

The agent seemed unconvinced but there was no rule against carrying masks so she just gave up and let him pass.

Once past security check, Erik searched frantically for his gate. It had to be the farthest one possible and he ran through countless corridors before he finally spotted the right number. There still were a few people waiting in line and among them, he recognized a familiar dark-haired head.

"Carlotta!"

The girl turned around, surprised. "Erik!" she exclaimed happily. "You came!"

"Of course I came!" he snorted. "Without you there to annoy me, I'd just die of boredom!"

She laughed and pulled him into a tight hug.

The flight attendant called for their attention and handling her their boarding passes they went aboard a small bus that would take them across the field. At a distance, waiting for them there already was their plane, easily recognizable by the green and red markings on the sides and tail.

Getting out of the bus, Erik stopped to admire the machine, wondering how was it possible that something so huge and heavy could get in the air.

"Come on." Carlotta pulled him forward. "I'll tell you how it works when we get seated," she said as if guessing his thoughts.

Once everyone was aboard, the flight attendant did her usual speech and the plane began to roll across the field towards the belt. There it stopped for the briefest moment as the engine roared, warming up, before they shot forward, the speed pushing everyone into their seat. They went faster and faster until the aircraft lifted off the ground. Leaning out of his seat Erik peeked out the small window. In front of his eyes Paris spread out in all its immense glory before it disappeared completely, swallowed by the winter clouds.

* * *

 **A/N: So how do you think Carlotta's family will react to Erik? How will he manage at a strangers house? Will we finally meet the enigmatic Antonio? And where in all of this is the cat?**

 **Fun fact: the Alitalia plane Erik and Carlotta take does really leave on the 23rd this year at 15.25 from Charles de Gaulle.**

 **Next chapter: Erik meets the parents. This has to be awkward!**


	10. Chapter 10 - The Italian welcome

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 10 - The Italian welcome**

* * *

Landing at Milano-Linate, Carlotta called a cab which took them to the city center. When it stopped in front of an old-fashioned apartment building with iron-railed balconies, massive wooden doors and red brick walls partially covered with ivy, Erik couldn't hide his surprise.

"Thought your house would be more modern," he commented, carrying their luggage into the hall.

"This is actually my parents' place," Carlotta replied calling for the elevator. "Dad inherited it after grandpa who bought it after he and granny moved to Italy. I used to live in a modern flat with my b-" She bit her tongue at the last moment. "I used to live somewhere else."

They got out on the sixth floor and Carlotta went to one of the doors and rang the bell. There was a sound of steps and a minute later a woman opened up. She was a good looking lady in her late forties or perhaps early fifties, with short hair and smiling eyes.

" _Ciao tesoro!_ " She pulled Carlotta into a warm embrace.

A tall, dark-haired man came out of the apartment.

" _Papà_!" the girl exclaimed hugging him as well.

" _Carlotta_!" A little girl, no more than six or seven years old, ran out of the door. " _Mi sei mancata tanto tanto._ "

Carlotta lifted her up into her arms and kissed her cheek. " _Anche tu a me_."

Looking over Carlotta's shoulder, the child noticed Erik lurking in the darkness of the corridor and let out a sharp gasp. " _Chi è quello?_ " Who was he, she asked, burying her head in the crook of the her older sister's neck.

" _Che cazzo sorella?_ " The curse was spoken by yet another member of the family, a young man of about thirty-something who just appeared in the doorframe. " _Ti sei portata dietro il Fantasma dell'Opera?"_

At that point, Carlotta's parents noticed Erik as well and now all four of them were staring at him with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

" _Scusate_ ," Carlotta stepped in. " _Lui è Erik, l'amico di Parigi di cui vi ho parlato,_ " she introduced him.

" _Ma parla solo francese?_ " Mrs. Giudicelli said in a low voice.

"Erik prides himself in speaking many languages," he told her in perfect, albeit slightly accented Italian.

"Oh thank God!" The woman let out a deep breath. "I was getting worried how we'd manage to understand each other."

"Erik," Carlotta addressed him, "these are my parents, Marco and Elena."

"Pleasure to meet you _Signor Giudicelli_." Erik bowed to her father.

"Don't _Signor_ me," the man laughed shaking hands with him. "Just call me Marco."

" _Signora_." Erik lifted the woman's hand and kissed the air above it.

"Elena," she corrected. "In Italy, it's custom to call one another by their given name."

"I wouldn't want to sound disrespectful."

Carlotta giggled. "If you call my mother _signora,_ you'll make her feel like an old hag."

"I assure you I see you as anything but," Erik rushed to rectify.

The woman blushed. She liked the man already in spite of his eccentric appearance.

"Anyways," Carlotta went on with the introductions. "this is my older brother, Andrea," she pointed out to the man, who just gave Erik a curt nod, "and this is my little sister, Diletta."

" _Ciao_ ," he greeted the girl but she only ogled him shyly, perhaps spooked by his masked face.

"Come on people, let's go inside." Taking his daughter's suitcase, Mr. Giudicelli went back into the apartment. The rest of them followed.

The Giudicellis' house was laid on two floors connected by a spiral staircase. Climbing upstairs, Erik admired the polished wooden floors partially covered with eastern rugs, the fine furniture and the many paintings and portraits that adorned the stuccoed white walls.

Waiting for Carlotta there was her old bedroom while Erik was invited to take the guest room. Leaving their luggage and taking a moment to freshen up, they went back downstairs where Mrs. Giudicelli had already prepared some coffee.

"Tell me, Erik," she began when everyone took a seat in the living, "how did you two meet?"

Erik stared at his espresso. "Well… we just…"

Oh, they just randomly ran into each other after he miraculously came back from the dead, he wanted to strangle her but she kissed him instead and that just kind of turned the tables.

"We met at the Opera." Carlotta came to his rescue. "Erik works there as well."

"So you're also a musician?"

"You could say so."

"Music's been running in our family for generations," Mr. Giudicelli said. "Has Carlotta ever told you that her great great grandmother whom she'd been named after used to be the primadonna at Opera Garnier?"

Erik and Carlotta exchanged glances.

"Yes, she might have mentioned it."

"She was very famous," Carlotta's brother cut in. "She would've made great career hasn't it been for some weird incident."

"What?"

"According to the stories la Carlotta was being sabotaged by someone at the Opera," Carlotta's father explained. "Apparently said person pulled some nasty trick on her during a performance. She was so humiliated she hadn't sung since."

Andrea gruffed, "Whoever did that was a real asshole."

Erik felt a shameful blush creep up his cheeks. He never meant to destroy the diva. He only used her as a tool to get back at the managers for their outrageous disrespect of his humble persona. He never cared to think about how she'd take his little prank. He just assumed that, confident as she was, she'd get over it and hopefully go to make a career on another stage where she'd be out of his way. He never imagined she'd quit altogether.

"That's just an old story," Carlotta muttered. "Why bring it up now?"

An awkward silence fell in the room. Erik stared at his empty coffee cup unsure what to do. Perhaps he should say something, but what? While he frantically searched for a possible conversation starter, something tickled his leg and looking down he saw a beautiful Ragdoll.

"This is Diana," Carlotta told him.

Extending his arm, Erik stroked the cat and she nuzzled into his palm, purring softly. She was quite the princess with her soft white and brown fur and huge blue eyes.

"I've never seen her act like this with strangers," Mrs. Giudicelli commented when Diana lept onto Erik's lap and urged him to pet her some more.

Carlotta smiled. It looked like Kay hit it right with Erik's liking for cats.

"Tell me, dear," her mother called her attention, "how's your career going. You never say anything over the phone."

"There's not much to say." Carlotta shrugged her shoulders. "I always understudy for the lead but so far I haven't had the opportunity to sing anything major yet."

"You will get your big role eventually."

Probably not considering the price she'd have to pay to pay to get it.

"I agree with you Elena," Erik said. "Your daughter is very talented and I shall see that she gets the chance she deserves."

"So you're in the management?"

"Not exactly."

"Erik's a vocal coach," Carlotta half-lied. "He's been helping me out with my training. He only meant he'd make me sing well enough to be offered the lead."

She had a vague feeling he meant something entirely different and involving the use of a Punjab lasso but she couldn't possibly discuss this in front of her family.

Enticed by Diana, little Diletta approached Erik and joined in playing with the cat, all the while glancing curiously at her older sister's strange friend.

"Why do you wear a mask?" she asked all of a sudden, immediately attracting everyone's attention.

"Dilè, you don't ask people why they wear a mask," her father scolded her.

"It's all right." Erik shrugged it off. She wasn't the first child to ask him that.

Still, the atmosphere had gotten dense. Now that it had been mentioned no one could hold their curiosity about Erik's masked appearance and the reasons behind it.

"Perhaps it's about time I go to prepare dinner," Mrs. Giudicelli said finally.

Her husband took their younger daughter by the hand. "Dilè, why don't we go help mom?"

The girl nodded and they both went to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry for Diletta," Carlotta told Erik when they were gone. "She's just a child. She doesn't understand it's rude to ask people certain things."

"Her question was legit," Andrea, who'd stayed in the living, spoke up. "Why the hell does he wear a mask?"

" _Ma dai Andrea_!"

"Why I wear a mask is none of your concern," Erik said through gritted teeth.

"Chill man!" Andrea got up his seat. "Was just curious, that's all."

When the younger man left the room, Erik turned to Carlotta. "I shouldn't have come," he muttered.

"Don't mind my brother," she said, snuggling into his side. "Every time I bring a new boyfriend home he puts him through a drill."

Boyfriend?! He wasn't her boyfriend! Or was he? He grew to think of them as friends but now he wasn't sure the term fit anymore. One certainly doesn't think of their friends in the ways he sometimes thought about Carlotta, ways in which he never even thought about Christine.

Diletta's treble voice interrupted his musings. "Dinner's almost ready," she said, peeking into the room. "Mom asks if you'll help her set the table."

Erik and Carlotta nodded in agreement and made their way to the kitchen to get some plates, glasses, and cutlery.

Dinner went on without any major disruptions. Andrea kept on his antagonistic demeanor towards Erik but the rest of the family was more than welcoming. Even little Diletta opened up to him and by the end of the evening she was sitting in his lap and asking him a million questions about Paris and the Opera House.

The phantom was appalled by how much the Italians ate. After a couple bruschettas, some smoked ham and a few pieces of cheese he was already full but there was still some pasta coming up, then a cutlet with potatoes and salad and finally a dessert, all accompanied with an abundant quantity of wine. Eating so much, he was surprised Carlotta wasn't twice her size.

As it got late took her little girl to bed. The rest of the family followed shortly after.

Provided with some towels and a spare bathrobe Erik took his turn in the shower, then quickly snuck into the guest room.

Despite the tiredness, he couldn't get asleep. The door didn't lock and he kept on glancing at it, afraid someone might come in to sneak peek at his face while he slept. Minutes passed slowly and when sleep wouldn't come he got up and went to explore the apartment.

Silent as a ghost he walked the moonlit rooms until he ended up back in the living. There, hanging above the sofa he'd been sitting on earlier he noticed an oil painting of a good looking woman with dark hair and eyes.

Diva la Carlotta. He'd hurt her more than he'd ever intended to. Who knows how things would've turned out for her if he hadn't had? Perhaps she would've never left Paris. She would've never married that Italian officer. She would've never had children and grandchildren. The little toad would've never been born.

Silently he crept into Carlotta's room and sitting on the edge of her bed he let his eyes slide hungrily over her sleeping form. She was so lovely even without makeup, in cozy pajamas and with her hair undone. Reaching out, he gently stroked away a few strands that had fallen over her face.

She opened her eyes and seeing a dark shadow by her bed she let out a muffled shriek.

"Ssh," he shushed her, putting a finger over her mouth, "it's just me."

"Erik?" she mumbled sleepily. "What are you doing up? Is something wrong?"

"No. I just… Never mind. I'm sorry for waking you up. I'll better go now."

He got off the bed but then Carlotta's tiny fingers closed in on his wrist and she whispered, "Stay."

* * *

 **Looks like someone is growing a conscience. He never meant to be this mean to La Carlotta. Honest. It wasn't his fault if she was on his way.**

 **Perhaps he could make up for the sins of the past by helping Mini Carlotta become a star? Or in some other way?**

 **Next chapter: Will Erik stay? And if he does, how will that play out? Read on to find out!**


	11. Chapter 11 - Reality check

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 11 - Reality check**

* * *

Stay?

Turning around Erik gave Carlotta a questioning look. She just moved her cover aside in silent invitation and when he still stood there frozen she just dragged him down.

Without thinking what he was doing, Erik snuck into the bed and let Carlotta pull him flush against her. Her luscious curves fit perfectly into his wiry frame and he felt his body react against his better will.

Horrified, he tried to put a safe distance between them but she wrapped her leg around his hip keeping him in place.

"It's ok. This is a perfectly natural reaction," Carlotta assured, trying not to show how good it felt to know she'd been the one to cause it.

"I know that. I'm not fifteen," Erik huffed.

This time it was Carlotta's turn to be embarrassed. "Sorry, I just thought that since you never, you know, had sex…"

"I may have not, but in my long life I had some," he paused, unsure how to put it, "some highly educational experiences."

Carlotta's eyes widened in horror.

"I wasn't raped."

She visibly relaxed but he could tell she was dying to know what exactly had he meant earlier.

Sensing she wouldn't get off the topic easily now that he got her curiosity rising, he exhaled deeply and said, "I spent a good deal of time with the Gypsies. They're not exactly prudish. I learned a lot just by watching."

Carlotta nodded. It wasn't any different from kids today learning about sex from watching porn. Still, that didn't exactly count as experience.

"I traveled the world," Erik went on with his story. "I came to know foreign cultures where the approach to sex is very different compared to Europe, where women are being traded like valuables."

"You have been offered a woman as payment for your work," Carlotta guessed.

Erik's face contorted in disgust at the memory before he answered, "Yes, I have, and the first time around I was actually willing to take it."

He'd been young, the newly discovered desires of the flesh burning strong within him. She was a good few years younger, with the skin of gold and long ebony hair.

"So what happened?" Carlotta prompted growing impatient.

Erik lowered his eyes. "I couldn't do it. Not when she cried like that."

He would never forget the look in that girl's eyes. Pure terror. Promises that he'd be gentle, that he wouldn't hurt her like he knew men did in her country didn't help. Then he understood: she wasn't as afraid of the act itself as she was of him. She'd rather be roughly abused by any other men than allow him to even touch her. The mask didn't help when she knew what lay underneath.

"There had been other ones who were braver but I wasn't interested anymore."

Those other women, they neither cried nor pled for his mercy, but he could sense their fear and repulsion, even when they tried to hide it, and it effectively turned him off. Ultimately the experience taught him to regard sex as nothing more than just another form of violence, one he'd rather not engage in.

"You seem interested now."

The comment brought Erik back to the present. "What?" he asked, unsure of what he'd just heard.

Carlotta shifted, making a shockwave travel all the way up his spine. "I said you seem to be interested now."

"Stop it," he warned, feeling his control waver.

She just laughed and then, without a warning, she straddled his hips, then pulled her top off and tossed it away.

He swallowed hard, his eyes skimming over her half naked form.

Why? What did she have to make this so difficult? Didn't she realize that all in all he was just a man like any other, a man that found it very hard not to get excited at the sight of a beautiful girl?

Before he could stop her she leaned down and kissed him. The moment their lips connected the remains of his self-control dissolved as he gave in to the pleasure. His hands shot up to her waist, then traveled up, exploring every inch as if she were a new kind of instrument he was just learning to play.

When they eventually broke for air, he panted, "Stop trying me or I will not hold myself responsible for my own actions," and to make his point he grabbed her hips and ground them hard into his.

"Looking forward to it," she replied, tugging at his waistband.

That was it! In one swift motion, he turned them over and crushed her lips again.

She did nothing to protest, just threw her arms around his neck and pulled him closer still. Before he knew it her fingers found the hem of his shirt and she pulled it over his head, careful not to tear his mask off in the process. Her hands moved down his torso and around his waist, sneaking their way inside his pants.

Before she had a chance to act, Erik pulled her up and holding her with one arm, he yanked at her hair. A second later she felt his lips graze the sensitive skin of her neck and a quiet moan escaped her lips.

There was a click and the lights in the corridor went on. Erik and Carlotta froze, their eyes glued to the door which, they both only now noticed, had been left half open. A shadow passed by, then there was a small creak and a thud of another door being opened and then slammed shut.

"Phew! That was close," Carlotta whispered, getting off the bed to close the door.

When she returned back Erik was on his feet and putting his shirt back on.

"I'd better go now," he said, slipping past her.

She let him, admitting it had been a really dumb idea to try to fuck under their parent's roof. Before it had likely been her brother going to the bathroom. If he had caught them, it would've been a disaster.

Returning to his room Erik dropped into bed feeling like scum. He couldn't believe he let himself go this far. Hadn't it been for that unexpected interruption he would've gone all the way. He knew that he would've. It had been way too hard to resist when Carlotta was this… inviting. Even now, closing his eyes he could still feel the touch of her skin and the taste of her mouth and his pants grew tight again. Consumed by shame he tossed and turned in bed until breaking dawn when he finally fell asleep.

Waking up the next day he decided he had to apologize to Carlotta for his outrageous lack of respect but he couldn't find a moment alone with her, thrown in the whirlwind of Christmas traditions.

After a several-course festive dinner, everyone gathered in the living to unpack their presents. It appeared that Carlotta had thought about getting a little something for everyone: a warm shawl for her mom, a book for her dad, a CD for her brother and a doll for her little sister. Eventually, she approached Erik as well and handed him a small package.

"Come on, open it up!" she urged excitedly.

Erik unwrapped the paper. Inside there was a box containing a modern phone complete with a set of headphones, charger and a sim card.

"I thought it would be handy," Carlotta said, noticing Erik's downcast expression. "I'm tired of talking to walls and mirrors. Makes me feel stupid."

"I like it! Honest! It's just that," Erik's eyes dropped to the floor, "I don't have anything for you."

He hadn't really thought about it. Back in his time, it wasn't custom to exchange presents. Sometimes the rich did it but only for children. Personally, he never received a Christmas gift in his life. That is, until now.

"Erik," Carlotta lifted his chin up so she could look him in the eyes, "I don't need you to buy me anything. You coming with me was all I really wanted."

"I would still like to repay you and your family for the hospitality."

Looking past her, his eyes fell on a black polished piano standing in the corner. An idea formed in his mind and standing up, he announced, "I must shamefully admit I haven't bought anyone presents but perhaps may some music be my gift for you?"

" _Sarebbe stupendo_!" Elena exclaimed gleefully and Carlotta remembered how her mother always enjoyed listening to her father play.

Sitting at the piano, Erik lifted the lid and caressed the keys almost with reverence. Then he began to play.

Everyone fell silent as pieces from Mozart, Hendel and Bach merged into a single melody under the ghost's skillful fingers. When the last note died out, the room filled out with enthusiastic applause.

Leaning towards her daughter, Elena whispered, "Now I understand why you like him, my dear."

Carlotta blushed. "It's not like that," she mumbled.

Elena only smirked. She could tell her daughter was head over heels for that man. She knew she would've been had she been in her place. Tall, slim, dark-haired, charming, mysterious and above all, musically talented. He just fitted perfectly with Carlotta's usual preference for men.

The afternoon went on filled with more music and chatter over some good food and a couple bottles of wine until eventually, people began to retreat to their beds.

Carlotta was the last one to go, and getting out of the shower, she was surprised to hear music being played downstairs.

Peeking into the living she saw Erik was back at the piano, his black-clad silhouette barely visible in the dark.

The music he played was nothing she would recognize. There was a kind of sadness to it which began to fade as the melody evolved, giving space to joy and hope that soon began to transform into something else. Passion. Rage. Guilt.

The music stopped abruptly.

"I'm sorry."

Carlotta blinked in surprise. Erik knew she was there?

"I'm so sorry," he repeated. "I've been wanting to tell you all day."

It took her moment before she realized Erik was talking about the events the night before.

"It was my fault," she said regretfully. "I shouldn't have forced myself on you."

Now that she thought about it, she'd been acting like a cat in the heat, putting them both in a more than awkward position. God only knew how bad Erik must've felt for the whole day.

"I must admit you were rather," he paused searching for the right word, "straightforward, but it doesn't justify me. I should have had more control over myself."

"Erik," Carlotta said quietly, "you didn't do anything that I would want you to."

"Still, my behavior was disrespectful for the least."

She sighed tiredly. "Then I forgive you. Can we get over this now?"

"Friends like before?"

She nodded. "Yes. Friends."

Erik gave her a smile and she forced herself to smile back.

"Will you play some more for me?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, turning back to the piano.

Making herself cozy on the sofa, she listened, the knot in her stomach tightening with every note. Friends, she thought sadly, they'd always be friends.

* * *

 **Next chapter: Erik visits Milan and finds out a little bit more about Carlotta's past. Stay tuned!**

 **Was she sweet to invite him to stay and sleep with her? Or was she stupid?**

 **Is he an idiot for making so much fuss over a good make-out session?**

 **Did Carlotta get it right when he asked her to stay friends? Or may she be misinterpreting something again?**


	12. Chapter 12 - Déjà vu

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners. All the places/monuments/streets/shops etc. in Milan that are mentioned in this chapter really exist.

* * *

 **Chapter 12 - Déjà vu**

* * *

"What's the deal between you and my sister?"

Erik turned to face Andrea, Carlotta's big brother, who'd plopped on the couch right next to him.

It was St. Stephen's Day the house was swarming with people: family and friends who'd come to visit the Giudicellis as it was custom. Among them was a certain aunt Luisa who, pointing out Erik was the speaking image of the Phantom of the Opera, had him play almost the entire score of the musical on the piano. After an hour of banging at the keys as the older lady butchered the lyrics he just needed a minute to himself. Apparently, it was not to be the case.

"Why so silent?" Andrea probed. "The cat ate your tongue?" he laughed, glancing at Diana nested in Erik's lap.

The cat just hissed at him hatefully.

Putting his annoyance aside, Erik replied calmly, "My relationship with Carlotta is none of your concern."

"None of my concern?! She's my little sister!"

"She's a big girl. She can take care of herself."

Andrea cackled. "The last time she told me that, she ended up blowing up her entire career and running away to another country."

Erik's ears perked up. "Here in Milan she was a primadonna," he guessed, hoping Andrea would take the bait and tell him more.

"She'd been finally given her big chance. Hadn't it been for that jerk..."

What jerk?! Antonio? Yes, it had to have been Antonio but…

"What happened exactly?"

Andrea squinted his eyes suspiciously. "Now _that_ is none of _your_ concern."

"Actually, it is," Erik argued. "Carlotta is a dear friend of mine and a pupil of sorts. I care that her career progresses but I can't help her unless I know what is bothering her."

"It's not my call to tell you."

"It's influencing her performance. Why do you think she hasn't made the lead yet?"

"Because she has a lousy teacher?"

"I'm the best she could ever get," Erik replied to the accusation.

"Right," Andrea sneered, getting off the couch.

It was pointless, Erik thought, gritting his teeth. The brother wouldn't tell him a thing. He'd have to figure out a way to get the confession out of Carlotta herself.

An opportunity presented itself a few days later. The two of them were on a stroll across the city, sightseeing. After a visit to the _Duomo_ , Milan's magnificent gothic cathedral, and at the _Palazzo Reale_ , an 18th-century mansion and the former headquarter of the Italian Government that currently hosted a museum, they headed across the square to the _Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II_. The historical shopping venue, famous for its stained glass roofs, housed a number of exclusive boutiques and fancy restaurants, one of which they stopped at to have some dinner.

Erik had his doubts whether he'd be welcome at a place like that but Carlotta argued that she didn't drag him all the way to Milan to have him eat at MacDonald's. When Erik got up his courage and asked the maitre at the door for a table for two the man didn't as much as flinch at his appearance. Was he by any chance used to masked people? Or perhaps it was his job to remain neutrally polite to all customers who were ready to pay almost a hundred euros for some starters, two plates of pasta and a bottle of wine?

Leaving the restaurant later, they took a different exit from the one they came in by, accidentally ending up on the other side of the gallery.

"I think I got a bit confused," Carlotta said, looking around.

They were on a square with a stone monument in the middle. On the far side, there was a familiar looking building bearing an Italian flag, it's lit up windows glowing in the darkness of the night.

"Isn't that your Opera House?" Erik asked.

Carlotta nodded. " _La Scala_. I used to work here before Palais Garnier."

"Can we go inside?"

After a few agonizing minutes of silence, Carlotta said, "Sure. Why not."

She walked across the square on led feet. _La Scala_ was the last place she wanted to go but she failed to find a reasonable excuse to deny Erik's request.

They barely made it to the foyer when someone called her name.

" _Signorina Carlotta! Allora è tornata?_ "

It was one of the guards. A chubby forty-year-old that had always been strangely fond of her.

" _Sono_ solo _venuta per Natale_ ," she told him. " _Il mio amico,"_ she pointed to Erik, " _voleva dare un'occhiata in giro._ "

As they went farther into the theater she ran out into more familiar faces: a fellow singer, a couple cleaning adepts, a group of ballerinas, even one of the patrons. They all asked if she'd decided to come back and she had to explain each and every one them she was just visiting for Christmas and she only came to the Opera House to show her friend around.

"Do you think you will ever come back here?" Erik asked after yet another awkward run with one of Carlotta's old acquaintances.

"No."

"Why not?" he probed. "It looks like you're being greatly missed."

She replied, "It's no fun to sing in an Opera House that doesn't even have its own ghost."

She was laughing him off again! The more she did it the more convinced he was she was hiding something from him. Something painful.

As they entered the brightly lit auditorium, they immediately realized they walked in on an ongoing rehearsal. On stage, a young woman in full costume was in the middle of an aria. When she noticed them she stopped to a halt.

" _Oh mio Dio!_ " she squealed, running off the stage. " _La Giudicelli è tornata!_ "

"I'm not back," Carlotta corrected. "Just came for a visit."

"Who's your friend?" the girl scanned Erik from head to toe, lingering a bit longer on his masked face.

"Giorgia, this is Erik, a friend from Paris, " Carlotta introduced him. "Erik, this is Giorgia Vellieri, the current primadonna at _La Scala_."

Primadonna? She must have been Carlotta's rival back in the day! It would certainly explain the animosity that still lingered between them. Could it be that Carlotta left Milan simply because she didn't get the lead? It didn't seem like her to give up so easily. Now, what about Antonio? How did he fit in this scenario? Perhaps he didn't. Perhaps his break up with Carlotta was not the reason but rather the outcome of her decision to leave. Judging from their message exchange that boy still loved her.

"So, how are doing at the Paris Opera?" Giorgia asked Carlotta with a vicious smile.

Before Carlotta could reply, Erik cut in. "She's going to be our new leading lady, starting next season," he said with a certainty that would have fooled anyone. "She is a remarkable singer. Her voice… Never before have I heard a voice like that. When she sings even the dead rise from their graves to listen."

Carlotta almost burst out laughing at Erik's exaggerate flourish.

"Congratulations," Giorgia said with a visible scowl. "To be honest, I never thought you'd make it."

"I just found this really good vocal coach." Carlotta sent Erik a playful wink. "I think he could even make _you_ sing like a pro."

Giorgia didn't seem to pick up the insult, busy staring unceremoniously at Erik.

"Is he really the Phantom of the Opera?" she squealed excitedly. "There are pictures of him all over Facebook and Instagram. The web is boiling up with conspiracy theories."

Damn, Erik cursed in his mind, he should've known better than to let people take selfies with him. It's just that they were all asking so nicely, sneaking right under his arm and asking him to smile for the camera. He enjoyed the attention, the good kind that makes one feel like a celebrity rather than a freak show.

Carlotta laughed perhaps a bit too loudly to be realistic. "Oh, Giorgia! Are you stupid or what?! How could he possibly be the Phantom?"

Giorgia threw her arms in the air as if to say: I don't know! Magic?

Carlotta flashed her a condescending glance. "People on the web say all kinds of weird stuff, like that Ramin Karimloo is really the Phantom."

"His name is _Erik_ ," Giorgia pointed out.

"It's a common name in France," Erik cut in, a bit worried about the direction this conversation was taking.

"He wears a mask! Why the hell does he wear a mask?"

"It's a fetish thing!" Carlotta spat pushing Erik back towards the corridor.

They made their way out of the theater in record time. Once outside, Carlotta took her phone out and checked all the socials.

Giorgia was right. Erik's masked face was all over the internet! Selfies with _#thephantomoftheopera_ were posted and reposted with some doubt rising captions: Who's the masked man at Palais Garnier? Go to Paris, meet the Phantom. The Opera Ghost is alive and he's cute. Phantom or prankster?

"I can't believe you let the phans take pictures with you!" she exclaimed. "You hate them!"

"Only those that try to sing, having absolutely no aptitude for it, or ask me to marry them or blabber some nonsense about swans and beds and monkeys."

Carlotta laughed, then she powered up her front camera and getting closer to Erik she held her phone at arm's length.

"What are you doing?"

"Everyone has a picture with the phantom. I want one too."

He rolled his eyes but then posed for the photo.

She took a few, trying different angles. At some point, they both turned their heads so that they were facing each other.

Erik stared into Carlotta's deep dark eyes, sparkling brightly in the orange glow of the streetlights. His grip on her waist fastened closing the remains of the distance between them. Time stopped as they just stood there, locked in an embrace, too afraid to do anything and yet unwilling to let go of each other just yet.

A wet drop landed on Carlotta's cheek. Another one hit the tip of Erik's mask's nose. It was beginning to rain.

Snapping out of their trance, they ran towards the gallery. Inside they crossed the half-empty corridors until they reached the exit on the side of the _Piazza del Duomo_. Then, covering their heads, they sprint through the drizzle to the glowing red "M" sign of the subway that would take them home.

In the morning the skies cleared again and it was supposed to stay sunny for the rest of the week. Carlotta took the opportunity to show Erik a few other interesting places on the town, all the way steering clear of _La Scala_. She first took him to the _Sforza Castle_ and on a walk across the _Parco Sempione_ all the way to the _Arco della Pace_. Then they went to the _Maria delle Grazie_ gothic church that housed Leonardo's famous 'Last Supper' and had some fun, counting hands and discussing details of the painting in relation to the Mary Magdalene theory, brought up to the general public a couple decades earlier by a bestselling American fiction author. Finally, they also visited the _MUDEC Interactive Art Museum_ stopping for an _aperitivo_ at the _Navigli._

Erik had visited many countries in his life, Italy included, but never like this, walking the streets in full daylight, taking pictures, dining in exclusive restaurants, laughing and talking with his beautiful companion.

Laying in bed on the morning of his final day in Milan, he thought about Carlotta. The insolent little Carlotta that drove him crazy on every step. The brave daring Carlotta that constantly pushed him out of his comfort zone, showing him possibilities he never even dared to consider. The more he tried to define his feelings for her the more confused he was.

Suddenly the door opened and she burst into the room.

Jumping on the bed, she cheered, "Rise and shine sleepy head!"

"What time is it?" he mumbled

"Almost eleven a.m.."

"What?!"

He'd never slept in. Usually, he barely slept at all and now he suddenly went out for over ten hours? Was it too much wine? Too much fresh air? Too much of... something else?

"There's some coffee and _cornetti_ waiting for you."

"Just give me five minutes."

"I'll be downstairs," she said, getting off the bed.

A few minutes later he joined her at the kitchen table. As soon as he got seated Diana jumped into his lap. Stroking her with one hand he grabbed at his coffee mug and took a long sip.

"One of my friends called earlier," Carlotta said, munching on her croissant. "She said she was meeting with some people on Piazza del Duomo later tonight to celebrate New Year's. She asked us to come as well."

"She asked _you_ to come as well."

"No, I told her I was here with a friend and she asked _us both_ to come." Seeing Erik waver, she added, "Come on, it's gonna be fun. We'll hang around, have some booze, listen to the concert, watch the fireworks."

"Okay, okay, we'll go," he gave up.

When they left for downtown later in the evening, Erik braced himself for what was about to come. He was just as nervous about meeting Carlotta's friends as he was about meeting her parents. Would they accept him? Hopefully the bottle of Absolut he kept hidden under his parka would convince them he was cool.

Arriving at _Duomo_ , a small group was already waiting for them near the subway exit. Carlotta did all the introductions, then they waited for a couple more people, before moving to a more comfortable spot at the base of the _Vittorio Emanuele II_ monument.

She square was quickly filling in with people gathering around a stage that had been erected in front of the cathedral, right between two hundred feet high live Christmas trees illuminated by thousands of tiny golden lights. Around nine p.m. the music started, a good deal of which wasn't much to Erik's liking but he decided not to care.

Carlotta's friends turned out to be more than welcoming, even more so after a few shots of vodka. They didn't mind the mask, albeit some were curious as to why he wore it. Just to make fun of them, he told them the very same thing Carlotta had told the leading girl at _La Scala_ : that it was a fetish thing. They totally bought it. One of the guys even joked he was getting one too, just to see how it worked on his girlfriend. The girls immediately joined in the topic, claiming masks were so 'Fifty Shades', whatever that was, and that any guy in a mask had ten points to sexiness.

As the evening went by, more people joined their party, friends of friends that just happened to have had the same idea on how to spend the night.

" _Ue, guarda chi si vede!"_ one of the guys exclaimed as another person approached their group. It was a man of about thirty, with dark eyes and hair styled into the latest fashion and a two days old stubble that only added to his latino lover charm.

" _Ciao ragà!_ "

He began exchanging man hugs with the boys and air kisses with the girls.

" _Ciao Antò_!"

Antò? As in Antonio? That Antonio?!

Erik glanced at Carlotta. She looked flushed and he wondered whether it was because of the vodka, because of the cold, or rather because of Antonio.

" _Ciao Carlotta_ ," he said showing off his perfectly white teeth in a wide smile. " _Sei ancora più bella di quanto mi ricordassi_."

Carlotta instinctively smiled at the compliment. " _Anche tu stai bene_ ," she replied.

Antonio was just as handsome and charming as she remembered. As soon as she saw him all the memories of their times together pushed their way to the front of her mind: the parties until morning, the dinners on the town, the skiing trips, their cozy apartment, her diamond ring.

"Ahem," Erik coughed, making his presence known.

Carlotta immediately realized her faux pas and introduced them.

Antonio shook Erik's hand but he didn't seem too interested in his humble persona. Instead, he asked Carlotta, "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure."

Antonio glared at Erik. "I meant privately." He made a move as if he were leaving, looking at Carlotta expectantly.

She appeared to be weighing her options until she looked at Erik and said, "I'll be right back." Then she jumped off her seat and followed Antonio into the crowd.

Erik waited for her patiently but when half an hour passed and she wasn't back he went looking for her. He almost made a full circle around _Vittorio Emanuele II_ when the final countdown began.

 _Ten, nine, eight, seven…_

He elbowed his way through the crowd, heading back to the monument in case Carlotta returned and was waiting for him there.

 _...six, five, three, two…_

Then he saw her just a dozen feet away, hidden in the shadow of the statue.

 _...one!_

There was a deafening bang and the sky lit up with colorful fireworks. People cheered, popping bottles of cheap _Spumante_ and exchanging New Year's wishes. Among them a lone dark figure stood rooted to the spot, a pair of blazing eyes fixed on the young couple locked in a kiss at the Italian King's feet.

* * *

 **Next chapter: Erik needs to take a decision of a lifetime. Perhaps some wise advice from Daroga might be of help?**

 **Looks like Carlotta has some skeletons in the closet of her own?**

 **What's the exact story behind her leaving La Scala? Did Antonio have something to do with it? Or did he not?**

 **And most importantly, will Erik ever find out what's the deal with them all?**


	13. Chapter 13 - Reasonable doubts

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 13 - Reasonable doubts**

* * *

Arriving to the Opera one winter morning, Daroga changed into his guard uniform and checked the clock. It was barely a quarter past seven a.m. Having almost an hour to spare before his shift started, he headed for the roof to have a smoke. He did that often, preferring the vast expanse of the rooftop to the grim parking lot by the back entrance. Inhaling the tobacco, he liked to watch the city below wake up, the squares of lit up windows shining like jewels on a blueish canvas of another ending night.

Getting out into the open, the guard lit up a cigarette and taking a mouthful of smoke, he leaned against the wall. A moment later his little ritual was interrupted by a shuffling noise coming from somewhere above. He looked up just in time to see a dark figure slide down the edge of the highest portion of the roof.

"Erik!"

"Daroga!"

The ghost was as surprised to see the guard there, as he was to see him.

"What are doing here?" he asked.

In reply, Daroga pointed at the cigarette. "Want one too?"

With a small nod, Erik accepted the Marlboros. Taking one, he lit it up and inhaled deeply. He wasn't too fond of cigarettes but considering his current state of mind he'd take whatever he was offered.

"I'd expect you to be lurking somewhere in the cellars but certainly not up here," Daroga commented, watching him intently.

"It's my Opera. I go wherever I please."

"To the roof of all places?" He gave Erik a baffled look. "It certainly can't bring any good memories."

The ghost just shrugged his shoulders.

"Come on," Daroga insisted. "Spill the beans."

He could tell something was off. Ever since he and Carlotta came back from Italy, Erik had been acting strangely. He'd gotten used to him being quite sociable but now the ghost seemed to be regressing to his past reclusive self. Was he depressed? If so, then why?

"I'm in love Daroga," Erik announced out of the blue.

The guard choked on the smoke. When he finally quit coughing, he jeered, "Good God, Erik, should we have the chandelier hangers reinforced?"

The joke actually made the ghost smile. "No worries Daroga," he chuckled. "Dropping it on some random Parisian wouldn't help my cause."

"So, you're in love again," Daroga went back to the subject matter. "This time I'm guessing with Mademoiselle Giudicelli?"

Erik nodded. It had taken three months, a journey abroad, and the involvement of a third party for him to finally understand that he was madly and inexplicably in love with her.

Daroga gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Let me tell you this: you two will make one helluva power couple!"

"We won't make anything Daroga. She loves someone else."

"Who?!"

"An Italian fop. Young. Handsome. Possibly even rich," Erik summed Antonio up.

"Okay, there's another guy. So what?" Daroga didn't seem to see the problem. "It didn't stop you before, why should it now?"

Erik dropped his eyes to the floor and muttered, "I guess I learned my lesson."

When he saw Carlotta with Antonio that night, his memory instantly flashed back to the moment he had snuck in on Christine and Raoul. A young couple in love. A kiss underneath a statue. A whispered promise. It was all the same. Suddenly he was certain of two things: that he wanted her and that he'd never have her.

"I could easily kidnap her, lock her in my house, threaten her into submission but what would I gain with that? Only hate! You can force someone to physically stay with you but you can't make them love you."

"Erik, you don't have to make Carlotta love you. Do you wanna know why? Because she loves you already!"

Erik thought about it for a moment. Carlotta did indeed demonstrate some sort of attachment to him, perhaps even a kind of sick attraction but so did Christine until the moment she tore his mask off.

"She never saw my face Daroga," he pointed out. "If she ever did…"

That was a possibility he couldn't ignore. As long as Carlotta didn't know his true form, he might have a chance at her but if she ever found out, it would've been the end of it. Beauty, he knew for sure, was one category in which he couldn't compete.

"Come on man!" Daroga rolled his eyes. "How ugly can you possibly be?"

"I look like a corpse."

"No, you don't. Not anymore," the guard argued, scanning Erik from head to toe.

In the past few months, the ghost had clearly gained a little bit of weight. He was still slim but in a more aesthetically pleasing kind of way.

"My face Daroga, it looks like a death's head."

"You mean like a skull?"

"Yes, sort of like a skull."

"You know, I can see all of your chin and mouth popping from under your mask and it doesn't look like the chin and mouth of a skull. I know you likely have a fucked up nose but I don't see how that could make yo- Holy Fuck!

"Exactly Daroga."

Erik had once sworn he'd never take his mask off in front of another human being, but he had enough of Daroga's incredulous blabber and there appeared to be no way of convincing him other than showing him.

"Yours is probably the most peculiar face I've seen in my life," Daroga said, staring at Erik not with fear or disgust but rather a kind of morbid fascination.

The ghost's face was unlike any other: slim and angled, with high cheekbones and a nonexistent nose settled between a pair of deep-set eyes surrounded by dark shadows and blazing bright yellow in the eerie light of breaking dawn.

When he imagined that face sickly discolored and dessicated with age he finally understood Christine's horror. In the darkness of the undergrounds, the twisted shapes matched up with the glowing effect might have created a macabre illusion of two tiny fires burning in the empty sockets of a death skull. Even now, if he squinted his eyes blurring his vision, he could see it, but as soon as he adjusted his focus, the image dissolved and he only saw a strange but definitely human face. A face that looked like it was meant to be handsome but something went awfully wrong in the process and it ended up distorted yet still retaining a slight trace of its intended beauty.

"Honestly Erik, I don't think it's _that_ bad. There are people out there that look far worse than you."

The ghost was skeptical. "I bet you ten euros you couldn't name one," he dared.

"I could name dozens!" Daroga laughed. "If you pay me ten per head by the end of the day I'm gonna be rich."

"I'm listening."

Throwing the cigarette bud away, the guard took his phone out and checked the connection.

"There's free wifi up here!" he exclaimed surprised.

He opened the google app and typed in 'plastic surgery gone wrong'. Switching to images, he clicked on the first photo.

"Look at this lady here. She's ugly as hell. Now, how about this one? She tried a DIY lifting or something. Now this one used to be quite pretty but she went overboard with the botox. So did this guy. This two look like ducks. This one looks like a horse. This one… I can't even find the words to describe this one."

He scrolled ahead, showing Erik countless pictures of women and even some men that in their attempt to keep young or just improve their looks ended up transforming into monsters. Bloated faces, misshapen lips and noses, skin falling off the bones. The web was full of it.

"Okay, I admit, " Erik said, "these people look really messed up but it's nothing like what I-."

Daroga lifted a hand asking Erik to hold it, then he typed in 'extreme body modification'. The search engine spat out a series of photos of people, mostly men, with extreme tattoos and piercings, horn-like bumps on their foreheads, split tongues and other unusual and rather grotesque features.

"Look at this guy," Daroga pointed out to a photo. "He had his nose tip cut off so his face would look like a skull."

"It didn't really work out. He just looks like an idiot."

"This one had his face tattooed so it would look like a skull. He now is a model. Who knows, perhaps you could make a career in that department? Fashion industry loves the bizarre."

"There is one substantial difference between those people and me: they did this to themselves. It's their own fault if now they look like freak shows. I was born like this."

Daroga wasn't discouraged one bit by Erik's counter. He ran another search, this time for 'people born disfigured'. Some of the images Google came up with were so shocking that it was hard to look and not wince.

"Look at these poor people Erik and tell me again how you are the ugliest person in the world," he hissed angrily. "Pity poor disfigured Erik? Hell no! It's _you_ who should pity _these people_ because you still have a pair of arms and legs and a face that is mostly integral. The nose such a big deal? You know what? It's nothing a good surgeon couldn't fix!"

In reply to Daroga's rant, Erik just slid his mask back on his face. Its waxed surface shone white in the first rays of the rising sun.

Cursing under his nose, the guard checked his watch. He got so absorbed in the conversation with the Opera Ghost that he didn't realize he's officially been on shift for almost an hour.

"Gotta go now," he huffed, heading for the door. "Think about what I said. That poor girl is head over heels for you and if you let her go because of your insecurities then you're a moron!"

After the guard left, Erik muttered under his breath, "Daroga is right. Erik must have been blind not to have noticed Carlotta has feelings for him. The way she kisses him and touches him leaves no doubt about that."

" _Erik should stop it right there,_ " a voice inside his head spoke up. " _That girl has some serious issues but Erik has no right to use that to his advantage like he did with Christine back in the day._ "

"Erik knows that if he truly loves her then he must let her go. On the other hand, what if she doesn't want to go?"

" _Erik cannot expect her to want to stay with a monster like him._ "

"Erik must tell her and let her decide."

" _He will only make a fool of himself_."

"That is a risk he is willing to take."

" _She will laugh in his face._ "

"Enough!" Erik shushed the voice.

He'd already made his decision. He would tell Carlotta everything and right away.

With a strong resolve in his mind, he ran downstairs. After a while he found Carlotta backstage, talking with some friends, and taking her hand he dragged her away from the rest of the party.

"Hey, what's going on?" she asked, following him down the hall.

"I just need to tell you something."

"Me too!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Do you know the masquerade ball? I just found out hey still hold it every year on the last Saturday of Carnival!"

"That's next weekend if I'm not mistaken."

"I know! I'm so excited! I always wanted to go to a masquerade! I already ordered a dress and a super cute mask to go with it. You have your mask so you can just wear that but we totally have to go and get you a tux. Would you prefer a total black look or white top and black bottoms? I'm not sure which one I like best, but thinking about it, I'd go for the black."

"Carlotta!" someone shouted from the stage. "Rehearsal starts in five minutes!"

"Coming!" she called back. Then she addressed Erik again, "What did you want to tell me?"

"Nothing important," he dismissed her. "Go now. They're waiting for you. We'll talk another time."

"Okay! See you later!" she cheered and ran back on stage.

So they still held the masquerades, Erik thought, and the next one was less than two weeks away. Now that was one hell of a favorable coincidence.

* * *

 **Next chapter: We meet a few more extras and get another cameo from Jerome. Meanwhile, the Masquerade approaches. Stay tuned!**

 **How would you like a comic book version of the story?**

 **Would you rather I did a sequel instead?**

 **Should Erik get a nose job?**

 **Reply in review**


	14. Chapter 14 - The fine art of dressmaking

**Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 14 - The fine art of dressmaking**

* * *

It's been a while since Erik wanted to facepalm himself like he did now. How did it even occur to him to speak to Carlotta about his feelings randomly during the day and in some dark corner of the backstage! Such matters had to be discussed in a romantic scenario and what could be more romantic than a masquerade!

He hurried back to the cellars, a plan already forming in his mind. Bursting into his house, he began searching the closets. Eventually, he found what he was looking for: a heavily embroidered red costume complete with a hat, a pair of loafers and a velvet cloak. Dusting it off, he put it on and went to inspect himself in one of the mirrors in the torture chamber.

His face fell. The style looked so outdated. He didn't like the puffed up pants anymore. He'd rather have them regular and paired up with different shoes. These ones looked almost feminine. The old-fashioned jacket was heavy and overly large. The fabric itself reeked of mold and featured a few holes, likely the work of rats. There were a couple buttons missing here and there, and of the feather on the hat there only remained a naked stick.

He checked out the mask that went with the costume. More than a mask it was a sort of two-piece skull-shaped helmet. When worn, it looked like an oversized death's head. Very macabre. Not very attractive.

The outfit that used to make him feel like a king now made him feel more like a clown. For a moment he considered wearing something modern, something simple, but he gave up the idea as soon as he got it. The Red Death was his trademark look. He'd make it work one way or another!

Changing back into his regular clothes, he found some blank paper and pens he had borrowed from the manager's office a while ago and sitting at the table, he began to draw. A few hours and several sketches later he came up with a design he was fully satisfied with. Now he only had to have it made.

Back in his time, Erik used to have most of his clothes made by one excellent tailor who had a store not far from the Opera. He had been the one to create his original Red Death look.

Tailoring was a kind of craftsmanship that even in the era of mass production of cheap pret-a-porter didn't go extinct. That said it was a surprise for Erik to find his tailor store of choice gone. In its place, there was a different one that appeared to sell anything but quality clothes.

"I can help?" a little Chinese woman asked in broken English when he came in. Perhaps she took him for a tourist.

Looking around Erik muttered, also in English, "I need a costume."

"Costume? Yes, yes, we have. Spiderman, Batman, Princess Elsa," she listed. "You need for boy or girl?"

"Madam, I'm afraid you don't understand. I need a costume for myself."

The Chinese shook her head. "Sorry. No big size for big man."

"There used to be a tailor here," Erik cried in frustration. "Did he move elsewhere? Do you, by any chance, know where?"

"Taylor? Taylor Swift? Yes, yes." The woman nodded eagerly. "We have shirt with Taylor Swift and backpack and beauty case. Only ten euro. Come I show you."

"Not Taylor. Tailor. A man that makes clothes."

"No, no. We not have."

This was useless!

Waving the Chinese lady goodbye, Erik got out into the street. He was fairly certain there still had to be some tailors left in Paris but he couldn't just wander around looking for one. He didn't have that much time to spare, let alone the will.

Suddenly he remembered: the phone! He now had an iPhone and for what he knew he could use it to find just about anything he needed in a matter of seconds. Retrieving it from his parka pocket, he opened the map app and searched for the nearest tailors. There turned up a few not far from where he now was.

Coming to the first store on his list, Erik seized the clerk at the desk. The young man dressed in an impeccable black suit that matched perfectly the snobbish smirk plastered across his face.

"May I help you _Monsieur_?" he asked, stressing on the last word with anything but respect.

"You may indeed," Erik said, trying to sound more confident than he was. "I need a costume made."

"Costume?" The clerk raised a brow. "We specialize in fine suits, shirts, and accessories. If you're looking for a cheesy spandex overall you should check at the mall."

Erik set his jaw. He was getting more and more annoyed with this popinjay's disdainful act.

"I am attending an event at the Opera House. A masquerade. That said I need to have an appropriate outfit tailored. Here, I have the design."

He threw the sketch on the desk. The clerked picked it up and studied it for a minute.

"We don't usually do this kind of thing," he said, "but I suppose we could make this one exception. It's going to be five thousand euros, half of it in advance payment."

That was going to cost but what did he care, having picked up Thibault's wallet on his way out. For all the deeds that pig had on his account, the mysterious loss of five thousand euros wouldn't be severe enough a punishment.

"When can I pick it up?" Erik asked, preparing a handful of bills.

"Leave us your name and telephone number. We will notify you when your outfit is ready."

"Can't you at least make an estimate?"

"A month. Perhaps two."

"A month?!" Erik cried, yanking the money out of the clerk's hand. "I need that next Saturday!"

"That's impossible."

"I'll pay twice as much," Erik offered. It wasn't his money anyway.

"It takes two to three weeks to complete a simple suit," the clerk explained. "With a design this complex, a month is an absolute minimum."

"In that case, thank you. I'll try elsewhere."

The clerk smirked. "Good luck with that!"

Sending the insolent fop one final glare, Erik rushed out of the store and headed for the next one, his hopes running low. Just as he feared, the second tailor offered pretty much the same price and delivery time. So did the third and the fourth. The fifth was only more expensive. The sixth was closed for some reason and the seventh absolutely denied him service.

Defeated, he made his way back to Palais Garnier, stopping at Starbucks to get some coffee and cake on the go. Since he'd already gone to the trouble of pickpocketing Thibault, it only seemed right that he spent the money somehow.

In the time he'd known her Erik had learned that Carlotta had a sweet tooth so he thought she might appreciate a little evening treat. When coming to meet her in the _Salon du Chant_ for their usual evening lesson, he handed her a cup of steamy latte complete with a full plate of her favorite oreo cake, she was positively gleeful.

The rest of the evening proceeded as usual, with him at the piano and Carlotta practicing the songs from the upcoming production. All the while Erik thought about how to handle the fashion issue at hand. It had eventually occurred to him that there may be a person who could help him: Jerome! The fancy-schmancy, bleached and powdered Jerome had to have some tricks up his sleeve!

The next day Erik took his sketches and went looking for the man. Eventually, he found him far in the backstage assisting Julianne's costume fitting for the upcoming performance.

"Ah, Erik!" Jerome flashed him a smile. "How are you _cherie_?"

"I could use your expertise in clothing," Erik said without much preamble. "Can you help me?"

"If you let Jerome pick your clothes _Monsieur le Fantôme_ ," Julianne giggled, "you'll end up wearing pinks and blues and dots and frills."

"A nice millennial pink would indeed complement your complexion way better than all those blacks. Honestly, Erik, it's about time you add some color to your wardrobe!"

"Don't listen to him! The way you dress now is very chic and sexy."

"Stop it both of you," Erik cut in.

That last comment made him feel slightly uncomfortable, especially coming from Julianne. Had she known he'd been plotting to get her conveniently undisposed so Carlotta could sing in her place!

"I like my wardrobe the way it is," he explained. "I only need a costume for the masquerade ball next week."

"Well, don't look at me!" Jerome held his hands up in surrender. "I'm a coiffeur! I make wigs not clothes."

"Can you recommend anyone?"

"Why don't you just ask someone in the costume department?" a woman sewing on little bows on Julianne's dress spoke up. "Marie perhaps? She's one of the best."

"Oh yes! She's amazing!" another seamstress added, coming from behind Julianne's huge skirt where she was left unnoticed up until now. "If you bribe her with a fine bottle of wine, you can be sure she'll make you the costume by the time of the ball."

"I guess I'd better go look for that wine!" Erik cheered. "One more thing," he added right before stepping out of the door, "where can I get some old newspapers, wax, glue, plaster wraps, regular powder plaster, and some tools?"

Jerome rose his brows. "Are you redecorating?"

"Not exactly," Erik laughed.

"You should find most of it at Leroy Merlin," the woman of the ribbons said.

The other one added, "There's one not far from here, on Rue Rambuteau. They also deliver."

"Check drug stores or orthopedic shops for the wraps."

"Well I have plenty of old newspapers at home," Julianne offered. "I can bring you some tomorrow. How many do you need?"

Damn! Now he definitely had to let her sing the lead at least this one last time!

"Bring as many as you can carry. Thank you." On second thought, he added, "Good luck at tomorrow's performance."

Leaving, he heard Julianne say in a low voice, "He couldn't have meant that last one. I'd better watch my back."

After a quick detour to the Opera Restaurant, Erik headed to the costume department. It was a large room aptly divided into smaller areas, with rows of clothes and accessories in various stages of completion, stashed along the walls.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?" he called over the low drum of sewing machines, intersected with occasional clipping of scissors.

"What?!" came a curt reply and a moment later a big angry looking woman emerged from behind a nearby separé.

"I'm Erik th-"

"I know who you are, " she cut him in half. "What do you want?"

Trying his best to stay polite in spite of the woman's rudeness, Erik said, "I'm looking for Marie. Is she in here?"

"MARIE!" the woman yelled louder than it was necessary. "THE OPERA GHOST WANTS YOU!"

"He does?" A little plain looking woman in an equally plain black sweater and jeans ran up to them. "Oh my goodness! Had I known I would've put some mascara on!"

"Quit it you silly girl!" the other seamstress reprimanded her. "The ghost doesn't give a damn about your lashes. He probably just ripped his pants or something."

"I have not," Erik countered, offended, "and you _Mademoiselle_ ," he addressed Marie, "are absolutely lovely the way you are!"

"Charmer!" Marie accused, blushing like a virgin.

"May we speak somewhere more private?"

"Naturally."

Marie led Erik deeper into the room. When they got far enough from the prying ears and eyes of the rude seamstress the ghost showed her his designs.

"Would you be able to make this by next Saturday?" he asked.

Lifting her eyes from the sketches, Marie gave him a disbelieving glare.

"You'll be properly paid for your work," Erik hurried to rectify, handing her a fat pack of banknotes.

The seamstress stared at the money, then at him, then back at the money, until she finally said, "No matter how much you pay, there's no way in the world anyone could make the outfit you envisioned in a little over a week. It's just way too complex, too detailed, and the fabrics you specify, it'd take a week only to get them."

That was it! He'd have to go for the penguin look!

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Marie," Erik said, preparing to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" the seamstress blocked his way.

He gave her a baffled look. "You said you couldn't make the costume so I see no reason why I should take any more of your precious time."

"I can't make _that_ costume," Marie pointed at the sketch in Erik's hands, "not on such short notice, but if you agreed to have the design changed a little I guess I could come up with something. We could save time by getting creative with some pieces and fabrics we already have in stock. We should probably rework some of the details, perhaps even skip a couple things all together."

"At this point, I'm open to suggestions."

"Okay, the thing is, I should now be finishing the costumes for tomorrow's opera. Come back here after 9 p.m. By that time that fat cow of my boss should be gone already so we can get to business."

"Oh! I almost forgot," Erik said, retrieving a bottle of Cabernet from under his jacket. "Please, accept this as a token of my gratitude."

"Why, thank you." Marie checked the gift. "In this case, when you come back later, bring also a couple of glasses."

Erik nodded and left Marie with her work but he returned later in the evening, just as she had requested.

Having a glass of wine, they set to work, discussing possible adjustments to Erik's design so it would be possible to complete it within the short time frame given. The changes ended up being substantial, but Erik decided Marie's vision of the Red Death was highly intriguing, and eventually approved almost everything she came up with.

He came for a fitting a few times during the week, every time past 9 p.m. and bearing a bottle of red wine and two glasses. In between sartorial adjustments, they talked a bit and he learned that the seamstress was single, had two cats and enjoyed mystery novels. She was kind, and before he even realized it Erik opened up to her, talking his own liking for felines, classical music, and quality wine.

The outfit was coming out magnificently and by the time it was complete, Erik was ready to admit Marie was an absolute fashion genius.

The death mask was another matter. Getting all the supplies needed, Erik prepared a plaster cast of his own head he intended to use to model his new mask on. It wasn't an easy job to do, especially without assistance, but he managed to make the cast without getting plaster in his eyes or ripping his brows out. With the newspapers he got from Julianne he prepared some papier-mâché paste and using the traditional Venetian technique, he meticulously molded a full face skull-shaped mask.

The night of the masquerade, Erik put his finished costume and mask on and checked the watch. Almost 10 p.m. It was show time!

* * *

 **Next chapter: The masquerade ball! The Red Death is stalking abroad!**

 **What do you think Erik's new costume looks like? Well, you can be sure it's red :D**

 **What about Carlotta? How will she react to Erik's declaration? Hmmm... perhaps she'll faint!**

 **Does anyone have ideas about where this story is heading? I'd gladly hear them!**

 **Reply in review**


	15. Chapter 15 - Red Death Triumphant

**A/N: There's some fluff near the end. You've been warned.**

 **Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 15 - Red Death Triumphant**

* * *

Coming to Palais Garnier on the evening of the masque, Carlotta made her way into the Grand Escalier and stopped in awe. The Opera was full of people: politicians, dignitaries, celebrities and many other, all in glamorous evening wear complete with a mask.

Scanning the crowd, she soon spotted Maestro Flaubert and his lovely wife, leaning on the balustrade of the Grand Foyer. Coming down the stairs there was Julianne in the company of André and Simon, their lead tenor and baritone. They were followed by a group of willowy girls from the ballet corps.

In a far corner, Carlotta saw la Debonnaire. She was showing a lot already but it didn't stop her from putting an empire style gown and coming to the party. She appeared to be engaged in a heated conversation with Thibault and Carlotta wondered what could they be arguing about. Perhaps la Debonnaire wanted to return to the Opera House after she had the baby and Thibault wouldn't let her?

"Bonsoir Mademoiselle!"

Turning around, Carlotta came face to face with Daroga who smiled at her from under a simple black domino mask.

"On duty tonight?" she asked, pointing to his uniform.

"Someone has to keep an eye on things," the guard sighed tiredly.

He would've rather been home, watching TV with his wife and kids, but he thought it wise to take a shift at the masquerade.

"May I ask you, Mademoiselle, does our masked friend intend to make an appearance?"

"I think so," Carlotta said without much conviction. "He's been strange lately, that is to say, stranger than usual. Do you have any ideas about what could be wrong with him?"

He has the hots for you, you stupid goose of an opera singer, Daroga thought to himself.

"Not a clue," he said out loud, shaking his head vigorously.

"I meant to take him shopping for a tux for tonight but he told me he already had it figured."

"Did he now?"

Carlotta nodded. "He asked me to just wait for him here. He said I'd recognize him."

Oh! That was going to be precious!

"He should recognize _you_ for sure," Daroga commented checking out Carlotta's designer dress.

"I overdid it, didn't I?"

She had thought _Rosso Valentino_ would've been the perfect choice for a ball but looking at other guests, most of them sporting conservative black, she suddenly felt overridden with doubt.

"You look superb," the guard assured her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my duty calls. I hope to see you again later in the evening."

Waving Daroga goodbye, Carlotta stepped deeper into the crowd. Soon she came by some friends who presented her with their friends who on their hand presented her with even more friends.

After an hour or so, tired of making small talk, she set to rest by the old entrance hall. Not ten minutes later she was approached by Thibault followed by a couple men she recognized as two of their major patrons.

"There you are ma cherie!" the manager said, slipping an arm around her shoulder.

Carlotta shuddered but didn't dare make a scene of brushing Thibault off in front of other people. It'd only make her look like a lunatic.

"You may remember Monsieurs Arnaud and Hubert from a reception a while ago." Thibault motioned to the two gentlemen that came with him.

"Yes, of course, I remember." She smiled, offering each of them her hand for a kiss.

"They both remained quite impressed with you the last time around," Thibault continued, allowing his eyes to drop to Carlotta's cleavage. "I was just telling them how much you have improved in the past couple of months and how I'm considering making you our new primadonna starting next season."

"Really?" Carlotta sniggered.

The hell she was going to be the primadonna! Not unless she opened her legs and that wasn't going to happen. She'd sooner let Erik play with his lasso.

 _Erik_ … Perhaps this was the time she did something for Erik whose incredible talent was once again rotting away five stories below.

She addressed Arnaud and Hubert, "Has Monsieur Thibault also told you who do I owe my sudden improvement to?"

"I believe not," Arnaud said a little surprised "Care to enlighten us?"

Carlotta felt Thibault's hand travel down to her waist and pull her closer in what could only be interpreted as a possessive gesture.

"She's been having some extra practice with an internal collaborator," he scoffed. "He turned out to be a decent vocal coach."

"Decent is not the word to use here," Carlotta argued, not at all put back by Thibault's dominant act. "He's brilliant! He sings, he plays, he composes but that's not all. He's also an architect, an artist, an illusionist and an engineer."

For what she knew, he was also a pretty skilled assassin but she decided to leave this one out.

"I must admit, this sounds very intriguing," Hubert commented. "Does this person have a name?"

Thibault's fingers dug into Carlotta's side in silent warning but she was too far into the woods to back up now.

"Erik. His name's Erik."

"Erik who?"

"Oh for heaven's sake Hubert!" Thibault rolled his eyes in annoyance. "This man may be able to strike a ballad but he's absolutely no one."

He'd had enough of the bloody ghost! Wherever he looked there he was, sneaking his way into every little corner of the Opera House. Madame using him to motivate the ballerinas, Flaubert wondering whether he liked the most recent production, Julianne acting paranoid every time she had to go on stage, and on top of that Carlotta, the ever so sassy Carlotta, acting like his little bitch! Who was he to deserve all that?! A hundred-year-old dead man who was only tolerated because he very well served as a tourist attraction! That was his place and there he should stay!

"What in the world...?"

Arnaud's bewildered whisper steered everyone's attention to the feet of the staircase where a spectral figure had appeared in a thick cloud of smoke.

The ghost's face was a naked skull, with blazing eyes glaring around from under an officer's cap. Underneath a golden rimmed velvet cloak, his body appeared to be just bones, but looking closely they were only imprinted on his crimson uniform.

Locking eyes with Carlotta, he walked towards her, his every step resounding like a salve in the dead silence that had suddenly fallen over the House.

"Who is this?" Hubert asked, turning to Carlotta and Thibault.

Carlotta's face lit up.

"That, gentlemen, is Erik."

She attempted to go out to meet him but Thibault grabbed her wrist. Sending him a heated glare, she yanked it out, and turning on her heel she ran into Erik's arms.

Locked in his embrace, feeling people's stares burning a hole in her back, she felt exceptional. She felt like a diva.

"You there!" Thibault accosted the closest guard whose name he didn't even remember. "Why are you standing here like an idiot! Do something!"

The guard only laughed. "About what?"

He was a dark-skinned man Thibault thought he'd already seen around but he couldn't put his hand to it. He was never interested in getting to know anyone from the staff.

"Who let this abomination in?!" he fumed, pointing at Erik.

"Oh, you mean the ghost?" the guard played dumb. "I guess he just let himself in."

"Take him out of here! Now!"

"Why? He's not causing any trouble. Unless, of course, you mind him flirting with opera singers."

Daroga! Yes, that's what they called him! Daroga, like the Persian in Leroux' book. No wonder he wouldn't help him! He probably was on it with the ghost!

"Why so silent?!" Erik's booming voice resonated like a thunder in the hollow space of the Grand Escalier. "I thought this was a ball!"

Hearing the macabre apparition speak with obvious humor people finally let go of the tension. A few of them laughed and someone shouted, " _Musica Maestro!_ ".

"I'll have you fired first thing on Monday!" Thibault hissed at Daroga, turning back to the center of the commotion, just in time to see the ghost take Carlotta's hand and press it to where his lips should've been.

The orchestra played and they began to dance, two flashes of red moving across the monotone sea of blacks, midnight blues, bottle greens and plums. Others followed in their example and soon the atmosphere eased again and the party went on as if nothing had ever happened.

When the song ended, Carlotta dragged Erik back down to have a drink with Arnaud and Hubert. The two men were very excited to meet him. Things got a little awkward when they became curious as to why had they never heard of him before if he was indeed such a multi-talent. In that moment, to Carlotta's utter shock, Erik calmly explained he suffered from a congenital facial disfigurement which made him somewhat shy. Arnaud and Hubert dismissed that as a valid excuse and encouraged him to show his work to the world, arguing further that if he was indeed disfigured, that could only work in his favor.

During the course of the evening Erik made many more valuable acquaintances: people from the arts department, who were very interested in his relation to the Opera House, a couple men from the press, who on their hand were interested in his relation to Carlotta, some fashionistas, who spent good twenty minutes trying to get the most flattering shot of his outfit, and even a few phans, who in their obsession over his humble persona went as far as to spend their savings on the tickets to the masquerade in hopes of meeting him.

He danced, he drank, he laughed. He plain enjoyed himself, contrarily to the last masque where he was being devoured by anxiety, trying to keep an eye on Christine while giving her the space she'd requested. This time around he didn't have to worry about his date running off with another man because she spent most of the time parading by his side looking proud like a peacock.

"This must be the most magical night of my life," she told him several hours later, as they were taking a little break hidden in the Basin de la Pythie, "and it's mostly thanks to you."

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head against his chest. He held her there, playing with her hair and wondering whether it might be the right time to speak to her about his feelings. When he saw a rather tipsy Thibault, walking down the stairs, heading right at them, it was his cue.

"Come little toad," he said, taking Carlotta by the hand. "I wish to speak to you about something, but I'd rather do it somewhere more private."

Leading her back to the Grand Escalier, he took a look past his shoulder to see, not without relief, that Thibault got interjected by some of the guests. Unable to move without making a social blunder, he only followed them with burning eyes until they disappeared swallowed by the crowd.

Erik had thought it would've been enough to get higher up and far from the heart of the party to have a little privacy but it turned out even the hallways that ran around the amphitheater were full with people resting, talking or making out in the dark. Even in the backstage, they ran into some girls from the ballet, a guard taking what appeared to be an urgent call from his wife, and Jerome smooching shamelessly one cute guy that had recently joined their chorus.

Going on autopilot, they eventually ended up by the Salon du Chant, and finding it empty, they went inside, locking the door behind them.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" Carlotta asked, giving Erik an inquisitive look.

"I just… uh..." he began clumsily.

He had a speech prepared in which he declared his sentiment with garb and garnish but suddenly he couldn't remember a word of it. His mind was a blank sheet of paper.

"Is it about something I did?" Carlotta prompted worriedly. She feared she'd gone overboard again, watching his side throughout almost the entire party or getting her hands on him.

"No, no," Erik assured, grabbing her gently by the arms.

"What is it then?"

Erik opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out of it. He felt as if something gripped his throat and squeezed, making it hard even to breathe.

"What are you doing?" Carlotta mumbled in confusion when he reached up and holding the upper part of his mask with one hand, he gave the jaw piece a sharp tug.

The bottom fragment, which was attached to the rest by a rubber band, gave up easily enough. Throwing it carelessly across his shoulder, he seized Carlotta by the neck and smashed his lips against hers.

She kissed him back at first, but then she suddenly pushed him brusquely away.

"Stop it!" she cried, looking down to conceal the tears that welled up in her eyes.

Erik felt his heart sink. If the kiss was a way of posing his question, there he had his answer.

"Erik so sorry. He-"

Carlotta didn't let him finish. "Of course he's sorry!" she spat. "He always is! Now I bet he's gonna tell me to stay friends like he always does!"

"That's not what I-"

"I'm sick of it! I'm sick of being played with like that! Friendzone is no fun! You of all people should know that!"

"WILL YOU FINALLY SHUT UP AND LET ME SPEAK?!"

Grabbing Carlotta by the arms, Erik pulled her close and breathed out, "I took you here to tell you that I loved you, you annoying little toad, and to beg you to stay with me."

Carlotta was aghast. Erik… loved her? It didn't make any sense!

"What about Christine?"

"What about Antonio?"

Now, where did _that_ come from?!

"Antonio is a thing of the past," she assured.

He replied, "So is Christine."

When the information sank in Carlotta smiled through the tears. Erik loved her! He really loved her, even if he usually stopped himself from acting on it! It hadn't all been just some wicked game!

This time it was her who pulled Erik into a deep kiss. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she pressed her body flush against his, hungry for more.

Suddenly Erik grabbed her butt and sat her on top of the piano that stood in the corner. She didn't mind, it only made it easier for her to reach his lips. Kissing him senseless, she wrapped her legs around his hips and soon enough she felt his hand travel up her thigh all the way past the edge of her stocking.

"Please, tell me to stop," Erik huffed in Carlotta's ear.

He didn't really mean to harm her but he felt he no longer had control over his own hands.

"Stop? I don't want you to stop!"

It was about time she got some real action from him!

"Careful what you wish for" he warned, and to make his point, he slid his palm along her inner thigh up to her most intimate territory, feeling a sensation of warmth radiating from her body covered only by the tiniest scrap of lace.

"Pull it aside and touch me," she commanded.

Erik swallowed hard. "You don't really-"

"Do it!"

Finally, he obliged her.

The moment his fingers came into direct contact with her bare flesh he lost what still remained of his sanity. All thought of propriety lay forgotten as he indulged himself in exploration, guided by Carlotta's beautiful voice.

Just like with music, it was instinctual. Alternating piano and forte, he played her like a violin, then finally changed to a building crescendo until he hit that highest note and felt her shatter, the frantic spasms slapping his fingers like broken strings as he tried to elicit from his precious instrument every last bit of sound.

There was a noise behind the door and that snapped him out of the trance. Retracting his hand, he helped Carlotta get off the piano. Slowly, she stood on on wobbly legs, looking at him with the glimmering eyes of a porcelain doll. She opened her mouth to say something but the noise behind the door repeated.

"Where the hell did they go?!" they heard Thibault's gruff, now think with alcohol.

He yanked at the handle.

"Why is this door locked?! Carlotta? _Cherie_? Are you in there?"

At the sound of her name, Carlotta clung to Erik's side.

"It's okay," he calmed her. "The door's locked. Listen," he pointed out at the silence, "he's gone now."

"He's got a passpartout in his office," Carlotta said. "He probably went to get it."

She wasn't usually so scared of Thibault, even knowing what kind of scum he really was. He'd never do anything to her unless she let him. That is, as long as he was sober. Drunk, he might be capable of anything.

"Erik," she cried, "take me somewhere Thibault could never find me!"

Erik snorted. That pig had a passpartout! He could get everywhere. There only was one place...

"Come," he took Carlotta by the hand.

Checking that the manager was indeed gone, they got out and ran down the corridor in the opposite direction from the administration offices.

A few minutes later, Thibault returned with the skeleton key and was surprised to find the door to the Salon open.

Going in, he scanned the surroundings. There was no one there but he spotted something white laying on the floor in the corner. Picking it up, he examined the object in the faint orange glow of the streetlight seeping through the high windows.

It looked like a piece of a mask and he had a pretty good idea who it belonged to. This was a jaw piece and there had only been one person at the ball who had it covered: the Opera Ghost!

* * *

 **5 more chapters to go!**

 **Next chapter: Interesting things transpire in that secret place in the Opera House where you can't get even if you have a passpartout. Prepare for some fluff and an awkward boat trip!**

 **Do you think Carlotta should make an exception to the rule and let Erik punjab Thibault?**

 **Should Erik listen to Mss. Arnaud and Hubert and perhaps start a youtube channel?**

 **As promised, here's a couple PICTURES I did of the REDESIGNED RED DEATH COSTUME.**

 **Go to PINTEREST and add the pin number of one of these (there's 2 pics):**

 **pin/386324474277486113/**

 **pin/386324474277486139/**


	16. Chapter 16 - Beneath the Opera House

**A/N: Minor fluff alert. You've been warned.**

 **Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 16 - Beneath the Opera House**

* * *

When Erik led her towards the cellars Carlotta immediately understood where she was being taken to and a shiver ran down her spine. In all the time she knew Erik she'd never been to his house - more so, she never even considered the possibility - and now that he was taking her there, just like he'd once taken Christine, she felt both excited and terrified.

Erik glanced back at her, his feline eyes shining in the gloom like two pieces of gold.

He must have sensed her anxiety because he whispered, "Don't be afraid."

"I've never been down here," Carlotta explained.

"You needn't worry as long as you are with me. I know every corner of these undergrounds like the palm of my hand."

Passing through countless stone-walled corridors, they continued their descent into the depths until they reached the third cellar. There they stopped in a room stashed with some ancient props and stage decorations. Moving some of the junk out of the way, Erik felt the wall. Finding the right stone, he put some pressure on it and the stone moved inward to expose a hole in the ground.

"Follow me. Hang by your hands from the edge, then let go," he instructed. "Just hurry before the trapdoor closes."

He slid into the hole and a moment later he was gone.

Carlotta crawled to the trapdoor and stared into the darkness below. The whole thing felt like a really bad idea.

"I will catch you," Erik assured her. "Just trust me."

Brushing the fear away, Carlotta lept into the void. Seconds later she landed securely in Erik's arms.

The ghost put her on her feet and moved away.

"Erik? Where are you?" she called out. The darkness was so absolute she couldn't see his glowing eyes.

"Stay where you are," Erik replied. "I want to show you something."

His voice seemed to be coming from only a couple feet away but when she felt for him in the darkness her hands met rusty metal.

Suddenly the lights came on, seeping in narrow beams through the branches of a tree, an iron tree that grew in the middle of an octagonal chamber inlaid with mirrors. Wherever she looked, Carlotta found her own masked face staring back at her and felt panic surge within her. She had done her homework and knew exactly what this room was. Why had Erik locked here there? He wouldn't harm her, would he?

The lights went out then came back on but this time the soft glow seemed to be emanating from within the walls. The reflections were gone, replaced by the image of a tropical forest that stretched into infinity in all directions. A few moments later it transformed into a desert where far on the horizon there seemed to appear a faint silhouette of an oasis.

The lights changed again and Carlotta only saw herself and the iron tree again.

Erik came back in, the illusion of the room making it look as if he'd appeared out of nowhere. He had dropped his cap and changed into his regular white mask.

"How do you like my mirror chamber?" he asked.

"You mean your _torture_ chamber," Carlotta rectified.

"These rooms were originally designed for the purpose of entertainment," Erik rebuked. "It's not my fault that some people didn't find them fun enough and asked to add some extra features."

"You had me scared there for a moment."

There was resentment in Carlotta's voice and it made Erik began to regret his idea.

"I had honestly thought you'd appreciate it," he mumbled.

"You were gone and I couldn't find my way out. I'd completely lost all sense of direction."

Erik smiled dangerously. "That's the point of this room," he said, "I built it in to stop and confuse whoever attempted to get into my house."

It certainly did the job when Buquet came sniffing around. The credulous idiot must have really freaked out when the mechanism went on. When he came back home he found some of the mirrors smashed and him dangling from the tree, hung on the piece of catgut he'd forgotten in the chamber.

Carlotta must have gotten over her stress, because she said with a saucy smirk, "I may have in mind another use for it."

"Really?" Erik gave her a befuddled look. "I can't imagine what else could I possibly do with a room like this, other than plain enjoy the illusions or use them to draw someone else crazy."

"Let's say that my idea kind of involves both." Saying this, Carlotta opened her dress and let it fall to the floor.

Erik felt an already familiar twitch in his lower region as he stared at the glorious creature in front of him, wrapped up in nothing but tiny scraps of translucent fabric, lace, and fastening. She walked right into his arms and as he embraced her, his eyes met their reflection and he understood what Carlotta had meant earlier. The idea of seeing himself, as he finally possessed her only added to the thrill of the act itself.

The moment he thought it, he was washed with a sense of guilt. How dare he defile something so beautiful? On the other hand, why should he not when he was clearly invited to?

Unclasping his cloak, he lay in on the floor and sat down, pulling Carlotta into his lap. She straddled his hips and taunted him with nimble kisses, while her sneaky little fingers worked the buttons of his coat and shirt. Soon both ended up discarded on the floor.

Erik's hands reached out to Carlotta's mask but then she stopped him.

"This stays on," she said

Erik chucked. "Fair enough."

"You're free to take everything else off though."

He needn't be told twice. Grazing Carlotta's delicate skin with his fingers, he methodically removed each and every piece of her intricate lingerie until she was left with nothing but the mask on her face. Distracting her with a kiss, he traced the curves of her body, marveling at the smoothness and the feverish warmth of her skin. His hand found one soft mound and squeezed gently, drawing a little whimper out of her throat. Reverently, he kissed and caressed every inch of her skin, becoming more and more audacious with every fervent sound that she produced in response to his administrations.

Carlotta felt on fire. Erik's eagerness to please her made up for all his lack of experience, which, she now thought, was rather overrated. Those few boyfriends she had had before were all veteran of the _Ars Amandi_ and yet none of them had ever made her so flustered and before they even got to business. Perhaps it was a matter of arrogance? They all thought they knew how things had to be done and so they did it their way. Period. Erik, on the other hand, relied on his gut, going by a method of trial and error, like a composer who hits on a few different keys before he finds the perfect sound. His musical genius skillfully shaped her into an aria.

Consumed by desire, Carlotta pushed Erik down and freed him out of the last pieces of garment that still stood between them. Revealed to her sharp scrutiny, he found himself feeling surprisingly shameless, unlike other times when he'd been stripped naked for others to see. He could still hear their cruel laughter in his head. Carlotta didn't laugh. Instead, she buried her head in the crook of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Her exquisite mouth left a trail of kisses down his chest, descending lower still, her fingers following in, and he closed his eyes as he succumbed to her game.

It had already been great enough a gift from her to let him touch her so intimately but this was so much more he had ever hoped for. He only blessed his long-practiced self-control. When he felt he couldn't resist any longer he pulled her up and looked into her eyes, searching for any signs of hesitation but there was only lust. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her and there seemed to be no reason to postpone this moment any longer.

As their bodies finally united, the whole world ceased to exist. There was only them, no longer a singer and a ghost, just a woman and a man with their faces masked but their souls bare.

Eyes locked, fingers entwined, they raced towards the precipice and then fell, shattering against the edge of reality. Once everything was over they simply lay on their bed of crimson underneath the iron tree, surrounded by a crowd of infinite reflections in a room that, having been built to bring death, had eventually become a witness of the ultimate act of life.

Eventually, Carlotta sat up and unmasked. Then, before Erik could realize what was going on, she reached out and tore his own mask off.

Her scream was so shrill that the mirrors around them exploded, the shards cutting painfully into his skin.

He woke up with a gasp. The mirrors were intact, the mask still secured on his face. It had been only a dream. Carlotta, however, was gone. Had she realized she'd given herself to a monster and made a run for it? How did she even find her way out of the torture chamber?

Putting his underwear on, he stormed out of the room, gathering more clothing on the go as he checked every corner of his house in search of the girl.

When she was nowhere to be found, he called her name but there was no response. Then a terrible thought occurred to him: what if in her attempt to leave she fell into one of his traps? What if she fell into the lake? Could she even swim?

Panicked, he ran out of the house and there she was, sitting on the small platform by the wall and gazing at the distant glow of a lantern.

He exhaled in relief. "You had me scared to death," he breathed out.

"Sorry," Carlotta said. "I just needed to get some air but, since we're underground, the best I could do was get out here."

There was something off about her but Erik couldn't put his hand on it. Perhaps he was just imagining things.

"Do you want to go back upstairs?" he asked.

Unlike in the past, he didn't feel the need to keep Carlotta under lock and key in his house. He knew she wouldn't run away from him at the first opportunity.

She nodded. "If you don't mind. It has to be morning already and I'd really like to get refreshed and properly rested before I have to come back on Monday."

They went back inside and lending Carlotta her own duffel bag so she could gather her things, Erik got himself in order and went to prepare the boat. When Carlotta was ready to go, he helped her get in and rowed across the gallery of stone-walled tunnels towards the Communists' dungeon.

They were already far out when, peeking out of the boat, Carlotta saw a dark shape move under the surface of the water.

"Erik," she yelped in alarm, "there's something in the lake."

"It's just fish," he replied calmly.

"No," she insisted, "it was something much bigger than a fish."

The shadow passed by them again.

"Erik, I'm telling you, there's something in here."

"Calm down," he huffed. "The largest and most dangerous thing that ever swam in this lake is m-"

"AAAAAAAAAAH!" Carlotta shrieked uncontrollably when a huge black form suddenly emerged from the water right beside her.

Erik swung his paddle at it but the creature dodged, swimming away to a safe distance. Only then they realized it wasn't any monster of the abyss but a man, more specifically, a scuba diver.

Removing his mouthpiece, he raged, "What the hell are the two of you doing down here?"

"I live here," Erik replied just as angrily. "What the hell are _you_ doing down here?!"

"I'm with the Paris Fire Department," the diver explained. "We're having exercise. Wait, what do you mean you live here?"

"You must have heard it wrong Mr. Fireman," Carlotta laughed him off. "He said he _likes_ it here, not that he lives here."

Squinting his eyes suspiciously, the diver took in Carlotta's white blouse, then Erik's mask, and finally their boat.

"Oh, I know what's going on here," he scoffed. "To play dress-up at your age? Seriously?"

Erik and Carlotta exchanged glances.

Dressup? Oh goodness! The man must have taken them for a couple of nutty phans!

"Do you people know how vast these undergrounds are?" the diver ranted on. "The last couple that sneaked down here to play phantom got lost and was found only a couple days later, frozen and starved almost to death."

Erik was likely about to counter but Carlotta cut in before him.

"You're absolutely right Mr. Fireman," she said, looking sorry. "It was really irresponsible of us to wander down here. Can we just go back up now?"

"Yeah, go back upstairs."

The man put his mouthpiece back in and disappeared under the water.

Rowing on, they reached the shore and securing the boat with a rope, they slipped into a dark tunnel that opened in the wall. They moved ahead, passing by a chamber with a small well in the middle until they reached a long paneled corridor that ended in a glass wall. Erik worked the mechanism and the mirror turned, opening to Carlotta's dressing room. The same dressing room, Carlotta only now realized, that must have once belonged to Christine.

As they walked across the Opera House to retrieve Carlotta's coat, scarf and purse from the cloak-room up front, they ran into Valentina.

"Why bonjour there!" the Russian cheered, sending Erik a wink.

"What are you doing here on a Sunday?" the ghost asked her.

"Someone has to clean up after last night's party. Speaking of which," she looked over Carlotta wearing only Erik's white dress shirt, "looks like the two of you had some fun!"

"Valentina, please," Erik implored, "do not discuss this with anyone."

"Of course not, Monsieur Erik, of course not," she assured. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've work to do. Someone puked all over the bathroom on the first floor last night."

Erik bet that had been Thibault. He'd looked pretty boozed up.

"Do you think she really won't tell anyone she saw us today looking totally laid?" Carlotta wondered when Valentina walked away.

"I can already see the gossip spreading. Perhaps I should make sure she keeps her mouth shut."

"Erik!" Carlotta warned.

"I'm only concerned about your reputation."

"My reputation? Half of the Opera House already suspects that I sleep with you so it's really no big deal if Valentina adds to the rumors."

They reached the cloak-room and, retrieving her things, Carlotta dressed up. Then they headed towards the Rotonde des Abonnés and out into the street.

She called for an Uber and while they waited for it to arrive Erik decided to address his gut feeling.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, keeping on the vague.

"Yes, sure," Carlotta replied without much thought.

He tried to pull her in and then he realized what was it about her that bothered him: she seemed uncharacteristically cold.

He felt his insides twist as facts began to connect in his head. Last night she was a little tipsy, and with the joyful atmosphere, she could've easily been inclined to do things she wouldn't normally do.

"Do you…" his voice broke. "Do you regret?"

The silence seemed to last an eternity as he waited for her to reply.

"No," she finally said with a small smile. "No, I don't regret."

She snuggled into his chest and stayed there until the cab arrived. Before she got in, Erik cupped her face and kissed her softly goodbye. She kissed him back but it felt different from all the other kisses they had shared, sweet yet poisoned with a sense of uncertainty.

* * *

 **Edit: Guys sorry for the lateness but I had people over and couldn't find enough time to finish the chap but I** **promise the new chap will be up by Monday 4th if not sooner :-)**

 **4 more chapters left! The climax of the story is still ahead of us!**

 **Next chapter: While Erik tries to figure out what had Carlotta bothered an unexpected visitor at the Opera House brings some past back.**

 **Now, tell me you never thought about using the torture chamber like** ** _that_** **!**

 **How did you like the cameo from Mr. Fireman? I had to include the PFD in the story even if just for the sake of realism :D**

 **Now, what happened to Carlotta? Why the sudden mood swing? Could she have come by something that changed her view of Erik?**

 **Bonus picture on Pinterest:** **/pin/386324474277586599**

 **Also check out my brand new Tumblr:** **jadeite-art** **for more art, sketches, and stuff**


	17. Chapter 17 - Truth or dare

**HA/N: Big sorry for the long wait. I had some social events and a friend coming over and couldn't get to finish this one. But hey, at least it's a pretty long one ;-)**

 **Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 17 - Truth or dare**

* * *

When Carlotta returned to the Opera on Monday her strange mood hadn't changed but as the days went by she eventually returned to her usual passionate self and by the end of the week Erik had her pinned to the mirror in her dressing room and begging for more. She regretted nothing, he had no more doubts about that, and yet something must have perturbed her. Perhaps she saw something in his house? Perhaps it was the coffin? Yes, it must have been the coffin!

Reaching that conclusion, Erik made sure to address the coffin subject during one of their encounters, explaining how he used to fear he'd just drop dead in his sleep and no one would care to bury him like a human deserved so, while he was still alive, he'd prepared himself a resting place, complete with candles and a requiem mass that would've never been sung for him. His confession left Carlotta a little confused but surprisingly undisturbed. She said the idea of sleeping in a coffin was no news to her - the goth did it sometimes - and while she found it odd she didn't really mind. She even asked him if she could try it out once, just to see if it was comfortable. So it appeared that it hadn't been the coffin after all. What had it been then?

Erik never found out the answer to that question and with time he just forgot about the whole thing, busy living and loving like he never thought possible.

With the coming of spring, they went on the town more often. A picnic in the Bois du Boulogne, a nighttime visit to the Louvre, a stroll along the Seine, a ride to the top of Tour Eiffel. The possibilities were endless. Sometimes Carlotta insisted that he go with her to a party with her. In the beginning, he was reluctant to go but somehow she always managed to convince him and after a few times, he found himself comfortably inserted into her circle of friends. It didn't even come as such a shock anymore. On the weekends she often invited him to dine at her place. He loved to watch her cook pasta, singing Italian evergreens and dancing around with a pan full of sauce. After dinner they usually lay on the sofa, putting on a movie and letting it play in the background as they burned the calories.

Days went by filled with music and romance and before he knew it summer came and with that the last performance of the season: Donizetti's 'Lucia di Lammermoor'.

Ever since the masquerade, Erik had been enjoying himself so much that he'd completely forgotten about his bet with Daroga. His music lessons with Carlotta usually ended with her sprawled on the piano and him with his nonexistent nose in between her thighs. Whenever he thought about getting Julianne conveniently out of the picture Carlotta managed to distract him with some audacious plans for after the show. This way he'd gotten to a point where he was left with one final chance at proving his right.

The day of the final casting, Julianne sang first, and coming off stage she told the other sopranos, "The Opera Ghost is here."

Carlotta peeked at the audience and there he was indeed, sitting right next to a rather unamused Thibault.

Damn! If Erik tried to persuade the Manager to give her the lead in one of his usual ways it could end in some serious mess.

Thibault called her out. Exhaling deeply, she walked on stage and sang her part. When at the end of her performance Erik gave her a thumbs up she knew she did well.

There were a couple more girls trying out for Lucia but knowing Thibault's casting criteria, Carlotta had no doubt about who'd get the part. That said, she was a little surprised, and more than a little concerned, when she later saw her own name written in the leading lady's slot.

The door suddenly opened and Julianne came out of the Manager's office.

"Congratulations," she said, glancing at the cast list.

"Thanks," Carlotta replied without much enthusiasm.

"You don't look too happy."

"I'm only worried Erik had something to do with this."

Julianne rose a brow. "The ghost?"

"What? You thought I'd gotten the part because I slept with Thibault?"

Julianne's cheeks reddened.

Carlotta immediately realized her mistake. "Julianne, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…" she began to say.

The other soprano cut her short. "I slept with Thibault to get the lead and you slept with the ghost," she spat venomously. "What's the difference?"

The accusation hit Carlotta like a boulder. She knew that people gossipped about her relationship with the Opera Ghost but it had never occurred to her that it may be perceived as a cunning move on her part to get his protection.

"I don't sleep with Erik for profit," she hissed through gritted teeth, setting off.

"Right," Julianne sneered.

Carlotta turned on her heel and shouted, "Believe it or not but I honestly like the guy!"

She sounded so sincere that it planted a seed of doubt in Julianne's mind. She ran up to her and said, "Don't you mind he's ugly?"

"Thibault is ugly," Carlotta countered, "Erik is just… damaged."

"They say he doesn't have a nose."

"What do I care? He wears his mask all the time anyway."

"Have you ever sneak peeked underneath it?" Julianne asked curiously.

The stories about the phantom's macabre face had always been running around the Opera but it was all based on the lore. Rumor said Daroga the guard had actually seen it but he wouldn't breathe a word about it.

It took Carlotta awfully long to respond but finally, she said, "No. I never saw under his mask."

"Aren't you even a little bit curious?"

"No. With his mask on, he's cute and I want to stick to that."

Julianne thought about it for a moment. The ghost didn't look half as creepy as one might expect, especially when he dressed so fine, yet even with his mask on, she didn't find him attractive in the slightest. Stylish perhaps but certainly not cute.

"He's so slim and has thin lips," she observed. For her, these were absolutely discriminating features in a man.

"I like it that he's slim," Carlotta replied. Personally, she disliked chubby men, same for those who were excessively muscular. "His lips are fine too." They were by no means full but not a straight line either. "He also has nice hair." She loved running her fingers through that hair. "I won't even say anything about his voice."

"I still don't get it," Julianne argued. "You're so pretty. Why waste your time on a disfigured dead guy when you could be with some handsome hunk? How about Pierre, the one from the ballet? He's gorgeous and I heard he's totally into you."

"I already had handsome, the most handsome of them all," Carlotta said, dazing off, "but I dumped him."

"Why? What was wrong with him?"

"He made me feel worthless. Erik, on the contrary, makes me feel precious."

"Doesn't he call you a toad?" Julianne snickered.

"The other guy called me his treasure," Carlotta retorted, "but he eventually treated me like dirt."

"Why? What did he do?"

Speak of the Devil, Carlotta thought when she suddenly spotted no other than Antonio walking the hall.

" _Che cavolo ci fai qui?!_ " she spat.

What the hell was _he_ doing at Palais Garnier? Was he there for her? He'd better be not! She was happy with Erik. The last thing she needed was for Antonio to show up and reopen old wounds. Wounds that, thanks to Erik, had finally begun to heal.

" _Sono venuto a vedere un certo Thibault,"_ Antonio replied. " _E' possibile che venga ingaggiato qui come solista a partire dalla nuova stagione_."

" _CHE COSA?!_ "

Antonio was coming to work at Opera Garnier next season?! She'd moved all the way to Paris to get away from him and now they were going to sing on the same stage again?! No! That couldn't be happening!

"Excuse me guys," Julianne cut in timidly. "I think I will leave you two to your business."

As much as she'd like to know what was going on between Carlotta and the hottie they'd just ran into, listening in on them was useless as she didn't understand a word of Italian.

"I'll see you around _little toad_ ," she mocked, walking away.

"Yeah, see ya," Carlotta waved Julianne goodbye, then turned back to Antonio. "How did it ever occur to you to follow me here?!" she hissed.

"I love you and I want to get back with you," Antonio declared solemnly. "What happened last year had been a terrible mistake."

"I believe I said it twice already but I'll repeat it again. Go. To. Hell."

The Italian didn't buy it. "You don't really mean it _tesoro_ ," he huffed, stalking closer.

"You've run out of your chances," Carlotta said, backing away. "I have a new boyfriend now, one that really loves me and respects me."

"Who? The masked creeper?" Antonio sneered. "Oh please!"

In a flash, he trapped Carlotta against the wall.

"No matter how much you deny it," he whispered into her ear, "I know you still have feelings for me."

Carlotta was just about to reply that she didn't but Antonio successfully shut her up with a kiss. She tried to push him away but he wouldn't let her, one arm firmly around her waist, the other steadying her head as he ravished her mouth.

Suddenly a pair of hands seized Antonio's shoulders and wrenched him back. A second later a fist connected with his nose.

"Erik, no!" Carlotta cried, tugging at the ghost's arm.

He seemed to lose a bit of his drive and Antonio took the opportunity to strike back. Seconds later they were both on the floor, wrestling mindlessly.

"Stop it both of you!" Carlotta tried to break them apart but it was useless.

Erik didn't care to fight fair. It had never his style. As soon as he saw an opening, his hand grabbed at Antonio's neck, choking him, while the other dug into his pocket. His fingers locked on a syringe and biting off the cap he dove it into the younger man's thigh.

"Ow!" Antonio cried in surprise.

Carlotta leaped to his side. Her face was as white as sheet of paper.

Turning to Erik she raged, "What have you done?!"

"Calm down," he dismissed her. "He's not gonna die".

Had it been meant for Antonio, the syringe might've contained poison but it was only a little something he intended to use on Julianne, had everything else failed.

The Italian paled and his hand went to his stomach. Seeing this, Carlotta took a step back and gave Erik a questioning glance.

"I think he's literally sick of you," the ghost cackled.

That cracked Carlotta up and she burst into laughter.

A sickening agent! Erik had injected him with a sickening agent! This was going to be hilarious! Poor Valentina though if she had to clean up the mess.

"If I were you," she addressed Antonio, "I'd go look for a bathroom."

The Italian sent her a heated glare. " _Stronza_!" he spat angrily. "You and your masked watchdog are worthy of each other!"

"I only know that _you_ have never been worthy of _me_ ," Carlotta replied with poise.

She might have had fallen for Antonio's charm in the past but now she saw clearly what an oaf he was. His ridiculously good looks were really the only thing he had to offer.

" _Sfigato_!" she summed him up.

" _Va fan culo!_ " he barked, putting a hand on his mouth to stop himself from vomiting and running off.

Carlotta turned back to Erik, meeting his hard stare.

"Now, little toad," the ghost said slowly, "I think you owe me an explanation."

Carlotta nodded. She didn't really want to discuss her past with Antonio but given the situation, she felt she had no other choice.

"Can we go just go somewhere private?" she only asked.

People talked about her a lot as it was. She didn't want to add to the rumors, discussing her past in the middle of a hall, or even in the backstage where she could've been easily eavesdropped on.

"Rooftop," Erik decided.

Daroga was the only one who went there on a regular basis but he only did it in the morning, right before his shift. At this time there shouldnt' be anyone there.

Climbing to the roof, Erik helped Carlotta all the way up to Apollo's Lyre. They sat down on the flat edge and Erik set his eyes on Carlotta, waiting patiently for her to speak.

Eventually, she began, "Antonio and I used to be engaged." Her voice was barely above a whisper and her fingers mindlessly caressed a spot where her ring used to be. "I met him at _La Scala_ ," she continued. "He'd moved in from Rome to take an empty tenor spot. All the girls were immediately into him - he was just so handsome - but he picked _me_."

Erik knew Carlotta well enough to understand what being chosen out must have meant for her. Just like her great-great-grandma, she craved for the spotlight but she had a hard time getting there and sometimes it left her unsure of her own value, not only at work but also on a personal level.

"Almost a year later we were still together and on top of that I was running in for the leading role in the opening performance of the new season and had a pretty good chance at winning," Carlotta recounted. "Everything was perfect and I couldn't have been happier. That was until I heard rumors about Antonio flirting with other girls at the Opera, perhaps even sleeping around."

"Was he?" Erik asked although he felt he already knew the answer.

"When I confronted him about it he denied everything. He blamed it all on envy and I believed him. I was in love and love makes you blind to the obvious sometimes."

Carlotta paused for a moment to blink away tears that threatened to fall.

Regaining control over herself, she picked up on the story. "I got the lead," she said, "I'd won against Giorgia Vellieri - you know, the girl we met at _La Scala_ back in December - and I was going to take center stage next to Antonio. Then at the season-opening reception, right after I was announced as the new primadonna, he proposed to me in front of the whole Opera House, not to mention the patrons and the press. I was so shocked I'd said yes without even thinking about it."

Sly move, Erik thought. It must have put Carlotta's suspicions to rest, at least for the time being.

"The night before the performance I had to come back to the Opera and…" Carlotta's voice broke for a moment, "...and I caught him having sex with Giorgia. He was so engrossed in it he never even noticed me. She did though and the next day she approached me and told me I shouldn't act so offended. He was banging half the Opera House, what difference did one more singer make?"

It must have made all the difference in the world to be cheated on only days after being proposed to and with your very rival.

"Ten minutes to curtain call I called it quits. I just couldn't go on stage and sing a love duet with Antonio, knowing what he'd done. I gave him the ring back and fled. A few days later I was on a plane to Paris."

Now that explained a lot. Poor little toad, she had been in love with that douche and after he'd disrespected her like that, she must have been devastated. No wonder she had a hard time putting some heart into her singing.

Taking Carlotta's hands in his, Erik said seriously, "You're _mine_ now and _I_ would never do what he did."

Carlotta smiled. Erik's words were unyielding and tender at the same time and she really liked the combo.

"You know, Antonio tried to get back with me several times," she confessed. "He wrote me dozens of messages saying that he missed me, that I was his only one and other such sugary crap."

Erik agreed in his mind. Antonio's messaging style was cheesier than a cheap romance novel.

"It's not like it didn't affect me," Carlotta continued. "It did. Antonio was my ideal boyfriend, and a part of me wanted to forget everything and go back to him. It was thanks to you if I didn't. You kept me engaged and the more I thought about you the less I cared about him."

"So what happened on New Year's Eve?"

Erik had never asked Carlotta about it - it didn't seem to matter since she'd eventually chosen to stay with him - but now he really wanted to know.

"You saw us?" Carlotta asked, horrified.

He nodded. "Oh yes, I did."

"Antonio tried to convince me to come back to Milan and get back with him, just like he did earlier today. At one point he kissed me and I just let him."

"Why?"

"I was vulnerable. You pushed me away the other night and I just… I just wanted to feel… loved."

"My foolish little toad." Erik pulled Carlotta in. "He never loved you but I did. I loved you and I wanted you like I've never wanted anyone in my life."

"You asked me to stay _friends_."

"I just didn't know what better term to use."

Carlotta laughed through the tears. "And I thought… Nevermind!"

The past didn't matter anymore. What was important was the present: the light breeze of summer air, the low hum of the street below and the sensation of Erik's hands and lips on her as he kissed all her pain away. She felt she had finally found her place and she had finally found her love.

"Erik, I forgot to tell you!" she exclaimed, breaking away. "I got the lead! I'm going to sing Lucia"

That was great news, Erik thought, especially after he'd wasted the nauseating drug on Antonio.

"I'm so proud of you. It was about time your singing skills were appreciated."

Carlotta rose a brow. "Don't act like you had nothing to do with it."

"I may have said a word or two to Thibault but I didn't think he'd actually listen."

"Well, he did!"

Now that had to be a first.

* * *

 **3 more chapters to go!**

 **Next chapter: Carlotta is about to go on stage as Lucia of Lammermoor but things get awry. Will she sing? Will she flee?**

 **What was it in Erik's house that got her so spooked? Any ideas?**

 **Lucky Antonio that drug wasn't really meant for him :D**

 **How did you like his and Carlotta's backstory? Is he a douche or is he a super douche?**

 **Looks like in this pairing the "wipe my pain away" thing is not as unidirectional as it might have been expected.**

 **Be so kind and leave a review!**

 **Also, check my Tumblr: jadeite-art for drawings, sketches, comics and other fun stuff.**


	18. Chapter 18 - Of monsters and men

**HA/N: This has been a rather difficult chapter for me to write. The scenes had been planned a long ago and some paragraphs had been prewritten but in the final cut, I reworded like 99% of it. Enjoy and leave a review!**

 **Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 18 - Of monsters and men**

* * *

Christine was growing worried that Meg might have been right about Erik after all. In the beginning, he used to speak to her almost every time she came to the Opera but as time moved on their encounters became less and less frequent until they stopped altogether. Risking Madame's anger, she often lingered longer in her dressing room in hopes he would come but he never did.

"Told ya it was a prank," Meg reminded her yet again when she addressed the topic with her. "The Phantom doesn't really exist and you're not really Christine Daaé."

Christine shook her head in denial. She couldn't accept the fact she'd been living in a fantasy. One last chance, she decided. She'd take one last chance at getting in touch with Erik. If she failed, this time she'd let it go once and for all.

She couldn't wait until the ballet class next week - it would've been pointless as she never had much time either before or after training - so she lied to her mother about going out with some friends and went to the Opera instead.

There was a performance scheduled for the evening and the House was in such a havoc that no one even noticed her sneaking in through the staff entrance in the back. Making her way into the ballet dressing room, she closed the door and called, "Erik? Can you hear me? Please come to me, Phantom!"

There was no reply.

She sank to the ground. Voice strained with tears, she sang, " _Ange de la musique, guide et gardien, Accorde-moi ta gloire, Ange de la musique, découvre-toi, Étrange et pur esprit_."

The door behind her creaked and she turned around full with hope but there was only a boy in evening wear, peeking in.

"Was that you singing?" he asked.

"Um, yes, that was me," she replied timidly. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I came to see the performance. My father insists that people of our status should be acquainted with the fine arts. My name's Raoul, by the way. And you are?"

"Christine. I'm a ballerina."

"You should be a singer. You have the voice of an angel."

Christine blushed slightly. There was just something about this boy that made her feel butterflies in her belly. He was so cute, with hazel eyes and dark blonde hair, and his name was Raoul just like Raoul de Chagny. Coincidence? Likely not!

"You shouldn't be here," she said nervously. "Come," she took him by the hand, "I'll take you back up front."

Escorting Raoul back to the Grand Escalier, she returned to the backstage, unsure what to do next. A part of her wanted to look for the phantom once more, but her mind kept on returning to the handsome young boy she'd just met. Crossing the halls with her mind in the clouds she didn't even notice when she accidentally came by none other than Erik himself.

"Christine?" he mumbled surprised. "What are you doing here so late?" She never came to the Opera unless for her ballet class, which was long over.

Snapping back into reality, Christine stared at the man in front of her. It was the same man from the pictures on the web, the one the management presumably hired to go around in a mask and attract public attention, but his voice… it was the same velvety voice that used to speak to her in her dressing room!

"So it _was_ you after all!"

Erik made big eyes at her. "What do you mean it was _me_?"

"It was just _you_ talking to me in my dressing room and I thought it was the freaking Phantom of the Opera!"

"Christine, I _am_ the Phantom of the Opera."

He was? He didn't even look the part! He was just so… normal! Why was he wearing jeans and a hoodie? Where was the suit? Where was the cape, the gloves, the hat? Why was his mask a full mask and not a half one?

"You look disappointed," Erik noted.

"I imagined you differently," Christine explained.

He seemed too tall, too skinny, with lips too thin and weird-colored shimmery eyes, but all things considered, he wasn't so bad.

"Why did you suddenly stop talking to me?" she asked, her tone accusing.

Erik dropped his eyes in embarrassment. Truth was, the more he engaged himself with Carlotta, the less he cared about Christine, and the moment he realized he was in love with the little toad he gave up on her altogether. There just seemed to be no point in messing up with her life more than he already had.

He knelt down to level up with her and murmured, "I'm sorry my angel. I just thought it better to let you be."

"How do you mean that?" she huffed. "You're the phantom and I'm Christine. We're meant for each other!"

Damnit! How was he going to explain this to her without hurting her feelings?

"It could have never worked out between us," he said cautiously. "It certainly didn't the first time around."

"The past is in the past. Things are different now. I'm different."

He laughed under his breath. "No, you're not. You're the same sweet naive girl you've always been."

"I love you!"

Back then he would've given anything to hear her say those words and now… now he didn't even believe them.

"You don't love _me_. You don't even know me. You only love a concept that I represent."

Whether it was an angel of a mysterious phantom, it didn't matter. The point was, Christine, the past as well as the present, never loved him, Erik, the simple man behind the mask.

"I do love you! I'll marry you if you ask me!"

Okay, now she was beginning to sound like one of the phangirls, the crazy kind.

"Oh, Christine," he sighed, "you deserve better than me. You deserve a man who is young and handsome. A man who could offer you a home, family, children. That man exists out there somewhere, I know that for sure, and one day you'll meet him if you haven't already."

For a moment, Christine's mind flashed back to the boy she'd met earlier, a boy named _Raoul_ , but she pushed the thought away. Her destiny was to be with Erik, it had always been, and that had to be the reason why they met again in this new life: to set things right.

"I don't want any other man!" she said stubbornly. "I want you!" And just to prove her point she grabbed at his neck and pressed her lips hard into his.

Erik froze. It didn't surprise her but when seconds passed and he didn't respond, she reluctantly let go.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

Erik looked past Christine and saw Carlotta standing at the end of the hallway. She had to be coming back from Jerome's because she was in full stage make-up and wig.

"This isn't what it looks like," Erik said, getting back on his feet and coming out towards her.

Carlotta didn't listen. "What do you think you're doing smooching that kid?!" she shouted. She never cared much about the games Erik played with the phans but it looked like it had taken of a whole new and dangerous route. "Do you want to go to jail for sexual harassment of a minor?!"

"Hey, I'm almost seventeen!" Christine cut in.

"Shut up you little dweeb!"

"You shut up! Who the hell are you even?!"

"Christine," Erik said, "this is Carlotta, she's my g-"

"Christine?!"

Carlotta facepalmed herself in her mind. She should've imagined there was Christine Daaé's doppelganger running around the opera as well. It was only logical. She had to be the reason why Erik returned to life in the first place!

"Carlotta?!" the younger girl exclaimed in bewilderment. "As in _La Carlotta_?!"

Well, other than herself, there also existed Meg and now Raoul so why not La Carlotta! Only, who gave her the right to order Erik around?

"Listen, you old, fat, screeching toad," she hissed. "Leave Erik alone. He's _my_ Angel of Music, not yours."

"Christine, we already talked about t-"

"Your Angel of Music!" Carlotta countered, snapping out of control. "How sweet! Now I bet you think he lives in some candle-lit palace, rides gondolas and underneath his mask, he only suffers from a little sunburn!" she jeered.

"Stop this now, both of y-"

"I know he's disfigured but that's fine. I love him anyways!"

"Oh really?!"

It happened in a matter of seconds. Carlotta's hand shot up and yanked at Erik mask. The rubber band holding it in place snapped and he felt the cold surface disconnect from his skin. Immediately, he buried his face in his hands but it was too late.

Christine's blue eyes widened and she let out a terrified scream. She'd expected Erik to be flawed but not like _this_! He wasn't just ugly! He was horrific!

"What have you done?!" Erik growled at Carlotta, seizing her by the shirt.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, shoving him off.

Alarmed by Christine's cry, some people ran onto the scene. Among them, there was also Daroga.

"What is this about?" he asked, assessing the situation. "You there," he addressed Christine curled up in a corner, "what are you doing here?"

"N-nothing," she squealed, running off.

Erik scanned the small crowd of voyeurs that had gathered around them, painfully aware that they could all see his face in its full macabre glory. It felt as if time had somehow bent and he was a teenage boy again displayed on stage as the Living Corpse.

He turned to Carlotta. She was the only one that could save him now. "Please…" he whispered, extending a trembling hand towards her but she slapped it away.

"Don't touch me," she spat. "You disgust me!"

Throwing Erik his mask back, she walked past Daroga and the others. Reaching her new dressing room, she shut the door and sank to the floor. Tears welled up in her eyes but she blinked them away. She couldn't risk ruining her make-up when she was going on stage in a matter of minutes.

Getting hold of herself she crawled to her vanity and begun searching the drawers. This used to be La Debonnaire's dressing room and it was no secret that the former diva, being highly emotional, was a fond user of opiates. There was a good chance she'd left something behind. Eventually, Carlotta found a small bottle of tranquilizer. There were only two pills left inside and she took both.

Marie came in to help her fit into costume and Jerome fixed her hair some more and then she was sent on stage.

Act one, act two, act three… She went through the motions as in a trance. All she could think of was Erik.

He had only ever loved Christine. She'd been such a fool to think that could change. That he could love her. _Her!_

By the time of the famous madness scene, she wasn't even acting anymore. She felt literally mad with grief and she sang it all out from the bottom of her broken heart.

" _Il dolce suono… Mi colpì di sua voce... Ah! quella voce… M'è qui nel cor discesa…"_

She would never forget that night when she had first heard Erik sing. He'd surprised her intoning Webber's musical and she couldn't help but join him, singing songs that were originally Christine's. Already then, she'd been trying to take her place, a place that, she now knew, could never be hers.

" _Edgardo! Io ti son resa… Fuggita io son da' tuoi nemici... "_

Day by day, Erik slowly seduced her and she had succumbed to him willingly and completely. She had given herself to him, body and soul, and he had only used her. On what purpose, she wasn't quite sure. Perhaps it had something to do with that bet he had with Daroga, or perhaps he just needed a past time while he waited for Christine to make up her mind.

" _Un gelo… Mi serpeggia nel sen... Trema ogni fibra….. Vacilla il piè!"_

She trembled, devastated by a pain like she had never felt before because, she only now realized, she had never truly loved before. Not like this. The silly teenage crushes, her infatuation with Antonio, and a couple more boys before him didn't compare to what she felt for Erik: a deep connection that went beyond simple physical attraction. He completed her, patching up the cracks in her souls, and now that she had lost him, she felt herself break apart.

" _Presso la fonte, meco T'assidi alquanto... Ahimé!"_

She finished the aria and glanced one last time towards box five before collapsing on stage. Lucia was dying and so was she.

Simon, who played Enrico, ordered for Lucia to be taken away and two cameos appeared to carry Carlotta off stage. Lifting her up, they realized she wasn't faking, she'd really fainted, and as soon as they were out of view they called for help. Someone brought some minty toothpaste and stuck in under Carlotta's nose making her come back to her senses.

"There you go girl," Marie said, helping her to her feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Just a little weak."

It had to be the fault of those drugs she'd taken earlier.

"You nailed it though! Now come, have some rest."

The seamstress led her to her dressing room and helped her out of the costume and into a robe. Then, making sure she was okay and needed nothing else, she left.

When Marie was gone, Carlotta finally abandoned herself to despair. She needn't worry Erik would see her tears as none of the mirrors present in the room was build into a wall, so she let herself weep uncontrollably for what felt like hours.

When she began to hear voices and the shuffling of feet behind the door she understood the performance was over. A usual, there was going to be a small reception in the Grand Foyer and this time she was absolutely expected to attend. She was the leading lady tonight and it was part of the job to meet with some of the most important spectators and benefactors of the Opera House after the show. In the world of dramatic arts talent was indispensable but social skills were of an almost equal importance.

Wiping the tears away she sat at her vanity and taking her wig off, she began removing what still remained of her heavy stage make-up. Underneath, her face appeared red and swollen from crying but some soothing chamomile tonic combined with foundation, concealer, liner and a heavy coat of black mascara did the trick. If someone looked closely they could still tell she'd been crying but all in all, she looked presentable.

She was just about to get into her evening dress when there was a knock on the door. She expected to see Marie or Jerome or just about anyone from the costume department but it was actually Thibault.

"I'm very sorry Monsieur," she said, thinking he came to scold her for being late to the party, "I'll be coming right away."

"There's no rush, ma cherie," he assured forcing himself into the room. "You enchanted them all tonight. I'm sure they'll gladly wait for you another moment."

"I have to change," she noted, hoping Thibault would take the hint and leave.

Instead, the Manager closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. "Don't you think," he muttered, coming towards her, "we should take some time to celebrate our great success tonight."

Carlotta retracted further into the room. "We'll soon celebrate that in the foyer," she replied as calmly as possible.

Thibault's eyes squinted and he leaped towards her. "I'm tired of your games, you little cunt," he barked, pushing her against the wall. "I made you a prima donna! It's time you show me some gratitude!"

"You only did that because Erik made you!" she countered.

The manager laughed. "Oh, he certainly tried but I couldn't care less about his opinion! You were only allowed to sing tonight because I thought I'd give you some credit! Don't make me regret that decision!"

Without warning, he smashed his lips against hers. Shutting her mouth tight, she tried to push him away but he was stronger.

"What's wrong?" he asked when she kept on struggling. "You had no problem opening up your legs for that monster!"

"You're the only monster here!" she spat.

Thibault's watery eyes squinted in fury and he slammed her hard across the face.

Carlotta fell to the floor, holding at her burning cheek. A hand yanked at her hair, pulling her up, and she cried in pain.

"Cry as much as you like! No one's going to hear you back here anyway!"

Thibault pushed her onto the sofa and pinned her down with the giant mass of his body. Holding her firmly in place, he spread her legs apart and stroked her forcefully.

"Erik!" Carlotta called in desperation, trying to wriggle herself out of Thibault's grip. "Erik!"

The manager put a hand over her mouth. His palms were warms and sweaty and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She tried to free herself once more but came out losing miserably. With everything that had happened earlier, she was drained and Thibault was a strong adult man. She was out of chance.

She heard the metallic click of a buckle being opened and then felt her panties being yanked off. She screamed but the sound came out muffled and week. Thibault's large palm covering her mouth and nose successfully cut off her air supply. Black spots danced in front of her eyes as she began to lose consciousness again. The last thing her brain registered was a noise at the door. Then everything went dark.

* * *

 **Just 2 more chapters left!**

 **We're getting close to the big finale. Will Carlotta get rescued? Will she clear up with Erik? Will she be able to withstand his not so classically handsome face now that she knows it? What happens with Christine? Is she really the reason for Erik coming back alive? Or is she not?**

 **Stay tuned!**

 **Check out** **my Tumblr account jadeite-art for some artwork and stuff**


	19. Chapter 19 - Revelations

**Sorry for the long wait but as I said before I was out for Christmas and New Year's. I returned at the beginning of January but then I had to go back to work and run some errands and let's not forget winter sales!**

 **Anyways, I'm back with the new (and second to last) chapter of the story. I hope you enjoy! In the meantime check out the illustrated version of the Masquerade chapter on my Tumblr. The ID is** **jadeite-art.**

 **Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 19 - Revelations**

* * *

Erik came out of his box and sank onto the small step by the door. Normally, he would've gone to get some flowers and rushed to Carlotta's dressing room to congratulate her on a magnificent performance but given the circumstances, he didn't think he should. Certainly, his ugly face was the last thing she wanted to see right now.

A pair of suede shoes entered Erik's field of vision. Lifting his eyes, he saw Daroga who held him out a hundred euro bill.

"Come on, take it," the guard prompted when he didn't move to pocket the money. "You earned it. You made that girl sing like I've never heard before. Really, I'm impressed."

"Oh yeah," Erik muttered, taking the bill and twisting it in his fingers absentmindedly. "She truly surpassed herself tonight."

"So? What are you waiting for? Go tell her!"

Erik sent the guard a skeptical look.

"You heard her before, Daroga," he huffed. "I disgust her."

Daroga rolled his eyes. "I bet she didn't mean your looks but rather your behavior. Whatever it is you did to piss her off, you should go and apologize to her right now."

"If anything, it's _her_ who should apologize to _me_."

The guard rose a brow questioningly.

Erik cried, "She tore my mask off! In front of other people!"

"Well, yeah, that was pretty mean of her," Daroga admitted, "but I bet she had some good reason for it. I mean, if she just wanted to hurt you, she could've done it a long time ago and in front of a larger and far less comprehensive audience."

"She wanted Christine to see," Erik said quietly.

Daroga's eyes popped wide.

"Christine? That little blondie, that was Christine? Christine Daaé?"

Erik nodded. "Her last name is different now and she's younger but she looks and acts just like the Christine I used to know."

"So let me get this straight," Daroga said. "You were trying to hook up with both Christine and Carlotta at the same time."

Erik felt his cheeks flush under his mask. "That's not how it went!" he fumed.

"Oh yeah? How did it go?"

"At first I thought I wanted Christine but getting to know Carlotta better I changed my mind. I let her go once and for all. It's just that… she couldn't let _me_ go apparently."

Daroga chucked. "What?"

"She began rambling about loving me and wanting to marry me and then she just kissed me!"

"WHAT?!"

"I didn't see it coming, I swear! She suddenly just grabbed me and kissed me and then Carlotta came in and freaked out on me!"

"Can you blame her?"

Erik ignored the question. "I'm certain Christine is over me now that she saw what I look like," he said bitterly. "Thing is, Carlotta saw it too."

The guard threw his arms in the air. "And there he goes again!"

"It's over now…"

" _...the Music of the Night!_ "

Erik sent Daroga a glare. "Seriously?"

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," the guard chuckled.

The ghost was being overly melodramatic in his opinion. Couples fought sometimes. It wasn't the end of the world.

Exhaling deeply, he said with all the patience he could muster, "Sitting here and mopping isn't going to solve your problem so get your skinny ass off there and go talk to that poor girl. Honestly, Erik, what have you got to lose at this point?"

Absolutely nothing, Erik thought. For what he knew he'd already lost the one thing he held dear in this world: her. He wouldn't be surprised if she just slammed the door into his face. Yet, if there was even the slightest chance she'd hear him out, he had to take it.

Standing up, he headed downstairs without as much as another word.

Daroga watched the ghost go before resuming his patrol. He'd claimed once that he had no time to babysit Erik and yet there he was! Did the Persian do it too back in Erik's time? Was he doomed to fill in the role because of his apparent resemblance to that character? Was it… destiny? Naaah, if this whole thing was about destiny then Erik would've hooked up with Christine, wouldn't he? Certainly, his destiny couldn't involve Carlotta. Could it?

Meanwhile, Erik crossed the Opera House, heading towards the backstage. He knew Carlotta had been relocated to a different dressing room, one that used to belong to la Debonnaire and in his time - oh the irony - to la Carlotta herself.

Suddenly he stopped to a halt. There, walking the hall was none other than Antonio, all pampered and carrying a giant bouquet of roses.

"You!" he growled, approaching the man. "What are you still doing here? Didn't I make myself clear the last time? Stay away from Carlotta or I'll have you hanging from the chandelier by your own guts!"

"Chill man!" Antonio hissed, backing away. He wasn't exactly afraid of Carlotta's bodyguard, but he'd rather avoid a fight. He couldn't risk ripping his brand new Armani.

"Just tell me one thing," Erik said, stalking ahead, "why do you keep going after her? 'Cause you don't love her, that much is clear."

"Isn't it obvious? Carlotta is a frigid bitch, you certainly must know that…"

He didn't actually.

"... but she comes from money and she has a background. Her family's been in the industry for generations."

Oh! So that's what it was really about!

"I never really liked her much, especially that big ass of hers, but she could've been my ticket to a great career."

"Oops, I guess you're late for that ride," Erik sneered.

Antonio shrugged his shoulders. "So are you."

Erik frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I just saw your Acting Manager go inside her room," Antonio said, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Only then it occurred to Erik that the Italian wasn't going to the backstage but rather returning from there, flowers still in hand.

Blood drained from Erik's face. He pushed past a rather confused Antonio making him drop the bouquet, the roses scattering on the marble floor, and sped towards the backstage.

"Let it go, dude!" Antonio shouted to his back. "The cunning bitch beat us to our own game!"

What did he know! Carlotta wasn't like that. She would've rather died than sold herself for fame or money. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps Thibault just dropped in for five minutes to tell her she nailed it tonight. Oh, who was he kidding! He bet his life the pig was up to something!

Bursting into the backstage, he ran to Carlotta's room and yanked at the handle. The door was locked. Faint noises were coming from the other side: huffing and growling mixed up with muffled cries. Panicked, he banged on the door but it didn't budge. In a strike of clarity, he remembered he had a passe-partout. He frantically searched his pockets until his trembling fingers locked on cold metal and turning the key in the lock he slammed the door open.

A horrifying scene unfolded in front of his eyes. There was Carlotta's limp body lying on the sofa, one arm dangling lifelessly from the edge and legs sprawled open. Above her hovered Thibault, one arm slammed over her mouth, the other one pushing against her inner thigh, his swollen member sticking from between the folds of his dress shirt, the tip less than an inch from the girl's naked flesh.

A red haze blurred his vision. In a flash, he was at the man's side and grabbing at his collar, he yanked him off Carlotta. Thibault heaved, choked by his own shirt, but he couldn't care less. Dragging him out of the room he threw him to the floor.

Tripping over his own clothes, Thibault fell on his knees, coughing and spluttering. The ghost walked toward him, looking like the incarnation of wrath. He shot up, pulling his pants up in the process but dealing with the button and zipper he couldn't avoid the punch that came his way. There was a little crack and he felt a something sticky pool over his mouth.

Erik struck again but this time Thibault was ready. With unsuspected agility, he ducked the second blow and sent a fist into the ghost's jaw. Erik staggered back surprised. He'd clearly underestimated Thibault who, despite his flaccid physique and older age, turned out to be a valid adversary.

Growling like an animal, the manager threw himself at Erik like a wrecking ball. It felt as if he were back in an arena, facing anything from strongmen to wild beast armed with nothing but a piece of catgut. His instincts kicked in and he stepped aside at the last second, sending Thibault smashing into the wall. The second he turned he sent his way another punch.

Thibault took no time to retaliate, smashing his huge fist right into his masked nose. For the second time that day Erik felt the thin rubber band holding his mask in place snap and the offending object fell off his face, hitting the floor with a clang.

"Fuck, you really are horrid!" Thibault grumbled, finally seeing that face he only knew from gossip and lore. "I've never seen anything as disgusting as you in my life!"

"I could say the same about you," Erik hissed.

"I still cannot figure how'd you get that little cunt to fuck with you."

Erik gritted his teeth but didn't respond to the obvious provocation. Fist-fighting would get him nowhere as they both possessed similar strength and skill. Oh, what he'd give to have his lasso now!

Pacing around and looking for an opportunity to strike, Thibault continued, "I get sick at the stomach just thinking about it. Really, how'd you do it? Did you knock her out first or what?"

"I'd never lower myself to your level."

"What? You think I knocked her out? Oh no! She passed out on me. Shame, really. I enjoyed her screaming. It turns me on when they fight back."

In a heap, Thibault threw himself at Erik but the ghost dove under his arm, his hand extending to his waist. Before he realized what was going leather strap closed in around his neck. His eyes bulged out as his fat fingers dug fruitlessly into what he realized was his own belt. He looked up into that macabre face, twisted in anger, teeth exposed in a wicked grin and those yellow eyes blazing like hellfire, and finally understood why people feared the Opera Ghost.

Erik pulled the noose tighter still, taking a sick pleasure in every choking sound that escaped Thibault's throat. Just a little bit more and it'd be over. No, that would've been too merciful.

Feeling Thibault go limp, Erik loosened the grip on his neck. Less than a minute later the man regained consciousness but in that time he managed to bind his wrists and ankles.

Cursing and yelling, Thibault wriggled wildly against his bonds but failed to free himself. Holding him by the feet, the ghost dragged him down into the cellars. There he stopped in a room full of junk and worked something on one of the walls. A stone retracted revealing a gaping hole in the ground and the ghost sent him pummeling into the depths below.

A loud thud announced Thibault's landing in the torture chamber.

"Anything broken?" Erik asked.

"I'll kill you!" came Thibault's raging yell.

Erik just smirked. "No, _I_ will kill _you_. Everything in its time though. For now, enjoy the sights."

Reaching into the hole, Erik pushed a switch and the torture chamber mechanism sprung to life.

"What the hell is this?! Let me out of here! Do you hear me you freak?!"

Thibault's cries died out as the trapdoor closed onto itself. He'd have something to do for the next few hours trying to escape the chamber. He'd gladly stay and watch, popcorn in hand, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

Rushing back upstairs, he stopped in front of Carlotta's dressing room. Collecting his mask off the floor, he tried to fix it but the thin rubber kept slipping from his fingers and after a few attempts he just gave up and tucked the mask under his belt before going into the room.

Carlotta had come to her senses. He found her curled into a shaking heap on the floor, eyes vacant and black tears marking her cheeks. Dropping to his knees, he crawled towards her and pulled her into this arms. He was afraid she might push him away, but after a moment of hesitation she circled her arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest.

"Shhh, you're safe now" he hummed, stroking her hair soothingly. "I won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise."

"E-Erik," Carlotta stammered in between sobs. "T-Thibault, he… he..."

"He didn't do anything," he told her. "I came just in time to stop him."

She pulled away a little and her eyes skimmed across his bloodstained shirt all the way up to his naked face, taking in the bruises that already began to form around his jaw. She took his hands in hers and he hissed when her fingers brushed over the raw flesh of his knuckles.

"Erik, what did you do?" she asked quietly, her eyes wide in horror.

"What do you think? I beat the crap out of him!"

He'd saved her! Why was she acting as if he'd done something wrong?

"Is he…?"

"He's not dead. Not yet."

"Erik, please, don't kill him."

Was she for real? Thibault almost raped her and she was pleading his case?!

"I've been indulgent with that pig so far, closing an eye on his slimy affairs because I told myself it was none of my business, but this time he'd crossed a line!"

"Erik, please don't do this. I'm not worth it."

"Oh, but you are more than worth it!"

"You don't even love me. You love Christine. You've ever only loved Christine."

Oh, so that was her problem. He'd completely forgotten.

"You're right, I do love Christine," Erik admitted.

He always had and he always would but he'd finally realized that his love for her was, and had always been, more like that of a father for a child: full of affection and admiration but entirely platonic. If he'd mistaken it for something else in the past it was likely because I lacked a point of comparison that he had now.

"I love her," he said again, "but I'm not _in love_ with her. I'm in love with _you_."

Carlotta shook her head in disbelief. "Christine is your destiny," she argued. "She has to be the reason why you came back alive."

"She is. That's the one thing I'm certain of."

Carlotta sent him a questioning glance.

"She sang an aria from 'Faust' one night," he explained. "I was dead and yet I heard it, loud and clear, and it… pulled me back."

"Was it the Jewel Song?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

"Erik," Carlotta whispered, "Christine didn't sing that aria. I did."

"What?"

"It was just a couple of weeks after I arrived at the Opera. I was asked to understudy for la Debonnaire because Julianne had broken a leg. It was a last minute thing so I stayed in late to practice. I still remember that night because it was the night when I was first given a chance to sing something big. It was also the night when I first saw your ghost."

There was a long moment of silence as they both tried to make sense of what they'd just discovered. It seemed like a minor detail but the implications were huge. For starters, it suggested the two of them were linked somehow before they actually knew each other. Was it because Carlotta was a progeny of la Carlotta? Then again, Erik had never been close with the diva. Why should her great-great-granddaughter bring him back from the dead? It would've made sense if she were Christine's great-great-granddaughter, but la Carlotta's? The two of them never even spoke to each other directly for crying out loud!

Carlotta broke the silence first. "I want to go home," she said.

Standing up, she went to her vanity, grabbed some beauty pads and squished some make-up remover onto them. Half of the product landed on the floor and she cursed over her breath.

"Here, let me," Erik muttered, taking the pads from her.

Sitting her down on the chair, he knelt before her and gently wiped her face of what still remained of her make-up. He then brushed her hair back and helped her dress and gather all of her stuff.

Walking her out of the Opera, he called an Uber and got inside with her. The driver glanced at him in the mirror and his eyes widened.

"Yeah, I'm ugly. Deal with it," Erik growled. In the dawn of the recent events, his looks were the last thing he cared about. "Now, get going!"

The man hit the gas and fifteen minutes later they stopped at Carlotta's building. Erik walked her all the way up to her apartment, thankful they didn't run into any of the neighbors.

"Would you- would you like me to stay?" Erik asked as Carlotta searched for her keys.

She shook her head. "Don't take it personally but I'd rather be alone."

Erik nodded in agreement.

Carlotta found her key and opened her door. Going inside, she called, "Erik?"

"Yes?"

She looked at him pleadingly. "Promise me, you won't kill Thibault."

"Give me one good reason why."

That was a damn good question. For everything he did to her and likely to several other women before her, including Julianne and la Debonnaire, she wished he died, slowly and painfully. At the same time, she loathed the thought of Erik becoming a murderer again.

"Do it for me," she said, unable to come up with a better argument. "If you love me like you say you do, then do it for me."

After a long pause, he whispered, "Okay, I won't kill him."

"Promise me!" she demanded.

"I promise."

He meant to ask her if he could kiss her goodbye but she'd already disappeared into the apartment, closing the door behind her.

He returned to Palais Garnier and, respecting Carlotta's wish for alone time, didn't try to contact her through the rest of the weekend. When on Monday she didn't show up at the Opera he got the uncanny feeling something was wrong. He sent her a couple texts but she never replied. He then tried to call her but the number was unavailable. Out of his mind with worry, he decided to check on her personally. Arriving at her building, he stood at her door but before he could ring the bell, a familiar grouchy voice caught his attention.

"Mademoiselle isn't home."

Erik turned to see the old lady from apartment 83 returning home with a sack full of cat food. Good thing he'd fixed his mask. He bet she'd have a heart attack if she saw him without it.

"I saw her leave with a suitcase yesterday evening," she said. "She didn't tell you she was going away?"

Erik shook his head. "Do you know where she went?

"She didn't tell and I didn't ask."

Erik's heart sank. Carlotta left without saying a word. That could only mean one thing: she was trying to escape from Paris, from the Opera and from him.

"Thank you for your help, Madame," he said, heading for the stairs.

He didn't care to call for Uber and just walked all the way to the Opera.

Palais Garnier welcomed him back with an eerie silence. The night had long set and the lights were out. The moonlight seeping through the skylight filled the Grand Escalier with a strange bluish glow. The place felt empty and cold. So did he.

* * *

 **Uff, that was a long one! The longest I've written so far I think.** **Enjoyed all the drama?**

 **What did you think of Antonio's little cameo? Epic douche, huh?**

 **And Thibault gets literally caught with his d*** in the air!** **He sure got his butt kicked pretty good for waving it around!**

 **Only one chapter left!**

 **We're only a step from the great finale!**

 **What do you think Erik did with Thibault? Did he actually listen to Carlotta's plea and let him live?**

 **What could be the reason why it was Carlotta and not Christine who woke him up?**

 **Please be so kind and leave a review!**


	20. Chapter 20 - Requiem for a ghost

**So, this is the end, dear readers. Thanks to all of you for staying with me for so long, for all the reviews and the favs. Now, on with the story!**

 **Disclaimer:** Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter 20 - Requiem for a ghost**

* * *

"You made the papers, Erik."

Daroga threw the ghost a copy of 'Le Parisien'. Erik caught the paper and stared at the front page where it read in fat bold letters:

PHANTOM STRIKES AT THE PARIS OPERA

 _Palais Garnier is once again the site of strange and inexplicable affairs. On the closing night of the season, the Acting Manager of the Opera, Monsieur Gilles T., had gone missing only to reappear a couple days later, dangling naked over the stage, meticulously bound with catgut rope. With him, there had been found a note accusing the man of a range of offenses, from money laundering to rape. In the result of the following investigation, Monsieur T.'s criminal conduct had been confirmed but the identity of his assailant remains yet unknown. The man himself claims it had been none other than the infamous Opera Ghost but he is considered delirious and remains under psychiatric care awaiting trial. It is curious, however, that on the same night there had also been another disappearance: the newly discovered prima donna, the Italian Carlotta Giudicelli, giving an outstanding performance as Lucia di Lammermoor, retreated to her room and hasn't been seen since. The coincidence seems suspicious enough to make one wonder whether both might have really fallen prey to the Phantom of the Opera._

 _Written by Gaston…_

For a second Erik thought he'd read Leroux but it was actually Lacroix. Gaston Lacroix. He bet the guy was a great-great-great-grandson of Leroux' distant cousin on the mother's foster brother side or something of the kind.

"The police was here last night," Daroga said, plopping down next to Erik, who appeared to have been sitting on the same step of the Grand Escalier ever since he'd seen him earlier that morning. "They've been asking everyone all kinds of questions."

The ghost shrugged his shoulders. "They can lock me up if they want. I don't care."

"Nobody's going to lock you up. As far as the police are concerned, you don't even exist."

"I do exist and you know it. You also know that I tossed Thibault into my torture room and kept him there for two days straight."

"Erik, everyone knows you're behind this whole mess and yet no one breathed as much as a word. We all testified Thibault was a rapist pig who liked to hit the bottle. When they asked about the Opera Ghost, we said it was nothing but a myth"

Erik's brain had a hard time processing the information. The whole Opera House had put their lives on a line by lying to the police to protect him?

"You seem positively shook, Erik," Daroga observed.

"Why?" the ghost mumbled. "Why would you protect a monster?"

"A monster that had just spared a man's life."

"I only let him live because Carlotta had asked me to."

A part of him hoped she could still love him despite his horrendous appearance. Perhaps she'd read the paper and see he'd done what she'd asked of him. Perhaps it would convince her to come back.

"Say what you want but I believe there's more to it than that. You're a better man than you give yourself credit for and we all know it and that's why we didn't tell on you. Besides, who'd believe us, if we told the truth? The Phantom of the Opera coming back from the dead? They would've locked all of us up in the asylum right next to Thibault!"

Well, yes, that was definitely something to consider.

A commotion down the stairs caught the two men's attention. There were two ballet girls climbing up. One of them appeared to be pushing the other forward.

"Go on you wimp," she gruffed at her blonde friend.

"What's going on?" Erik asked the girls whom he easily recognized as Meg and Christine.

"Ekhm, hello Monsieur Ghost," Meg said with a nervous giggle. "Christine here has something to tell you."

Under his mask, Erik rose a brow curiously.

Christine just stood there with eyes glued to the floor. Meg nudged her with an elbow.

"E-Erik," she began sheepishly, "I'm sorry for screaming like I did but I didn't expect you to look so scary."

Meg facepalmed herself.

Daroga stage-whispered, "You're not helping."

"What can I say, Christine," Erik gruffed. "You certainly live up to the expectations."

"You were right, you know, when you said it could have never worked out between us because it never even did in the first place. I think our destiny was never to be together."

"I'm glad it finally sank in."

"She met a guy the other night," Meg cut in. "Some snob called _Raoul_."

Erik chuckled. "Told you, Christine, that there was the perfect man waiting for you out there somewhere."

Christine looked at him with pleading eyes. "You're not mad at me?"

"I am, actually, but only a little, and for a whole different reason."

"Your girlfriend broke up with you because of me, didn't she?"

Erik wished it was that simple. If Christine hadn't had pushed herself on him, Carlotta would've never seen them and gotten mad. She would've never torn his mask off. He would've gone to her room way sooner. With him being there, Thibault wouldn't have had the chance to assault her. She would've never been hurt. She would've never run off.

"Let's say your lunatic behavior that night triggered a whole series of rather unfortunate events."

"I'm so sorry, Erik," Christine cried. "I really am."

He just couldn't stay mad at her when she looked at him like that.

He exhaled di defeat. "It's all right."

In that moment Christine did something he didn't expect of her: laughing through the tears, she threw herself into his arms.

Erik patted her back awkwardly, a bit shocked that she would hug him despite her initial horror at his appearance.

"It's all right," he repeated quietly. "None of this is your fault, really. You're just a teenager. I, on the other hand, am a grown-up man who should've known better than to try to manipulate you again. All the stupid things you did were ultimately my fault."

Christine just sniffed and squeezed him tighter. They stayed like that for a few minutes until a surprised voice coming from downstairs made them break apart.

"Christine?" asked a young man of about twenty standing at the feet of the staircase.

"Raoul!" Christine exclaimed, immediately entangling herself from Erik's embrace.

"Hey there!" Erik waved at the boy who stared at him suspiciously. "You'd better take good care of this one," he gestured towards Christine, "or I'll have your neck!"

"Erik!"

"I'm just kidding." Erik winked at the girl confidentially. "Now, go and have fun."

Christine appeared hesitant.

"Go to him." He nudged her. "He's the one. I'm telling you." He'd recognize _that_ face everywhere.

Christine smiled at him. "Thank you, Erik."

"For what?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Just for being Erik."

With that, she ran off to Raoul and they both left.

Erik glared at Meg who'd stayed behind. "What are you waiting for? Go back to your business!"

The girl bit her lip. "Can I see your face?" she blurted out all of a sudden.

"No!"

"Oh come on!"

"No! Now get out of my sight!"

Meg turned on her heel and walked off, muttering a litany of curses under her nose.

Next to him, Daroga was laughing his butt off.

"What's so funny?" Erik growled at him.

"Nothing. It's just…" the guard waved his arms around. "You've grown so much in that past year. You make me feel like a proud father." After a pause, he added, "What you did earlier, taking responsibility for your mistakes, that was very mature of you."

"It was only right," Erik sighed. "As much as I'd like to blame Christine, or just about anyone, for what had happened, it's all on me. After all, it had been I who thought a teenage ballerina could sing an operatic aria as well as to raise the dead."

"Oh yeah, that was sil-" Daroga stopped mid-sentence. "Wait, what?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Erik frowned. "I have returned after hearing a song and I had assumed it had been Christine who'd sung it. That was until Carlotta told me the other night it had actually been her."

Daroga's eyes popped wide. "Wait, you mean to tell me it was Mademoiselle Giudicelli who brought you back to life?!"

"Makes no sense, huh?"

"Actually," the guard scratched his chin, "it makes perfect sense."

"It does?"

Daroga stood up and waved at Erik to follow. "Come on! I'll explain everything over dinner!"

"I'm not hungry." Erik lied. He'd gotten used to eating regularly and the emptiness in his stomach from skipping a few meals was bothering him way more than he expected.

"Mademoiselle Giudicelli is going to be very disappointed if you starve yourself to death."

"Mademoiselle doesn't give a damn."

"Of course she doesn't", Daroga jeered, "and that's why she wasted several months fattening you up like a chicken. Now, get up!" Grabbing Erik by the hood, he forced him to his feet.

Reluctantly, Erik followed the guard down the stairs and further on to the restaurant. Finding a table in a quiet corner, they took a seat and placed their orders.

When the waiter left, Daroga said, "I've been trying to figure this whole thing out for quite some time now, you know, but nothing seemed to add up. For starters, the time. It didn't seem to be an anniversary of any kind. The chandelier accident happened on May 21st, 1896 and following the indications in Leroux' book, one may estimate your approximate time of death to the spring of 1897. You returned halfway through September. As you can see the dates don't add up. So why that particular day? What was so special about it?"

"Carlotta said it was the day when she had first had the chance to sing something important and that it was also the day when she'd first seen my ghost."

"Exactly!"

The waiter came back, bringing some cutlery, a basket of garlic bread and some water, interrupting their discourse for a minute.

"I was on shift that night," Daroga continued when they were alone again. "I saw the whole thing. The poor girl hadn't been around for long yet and was completely oblivious to your existence. Seeing your ghost, she was out of her mind with fear. When she sang I could hear the trepidation in her voice."

"Okay, Daroga," Erik mumbled, munching on a piece of bread, "it does make sense but what I'd like to know is _why_ it was _her_ who brought me back."

Daroga leaned back in his chair, thinking. In the meantime, dinner was served.

"That aria she sang," the guard asked, "is it a personal favorite or something?"

"It's much more than that," Erik groaned. "You see, the Jewel Song is the song that Christine - the original one - had sung when I'd first heard her."

"Really? Tell me about it."

"One night I was just hanging around when I heard someone sing so beautifully it took my breath away. The next day I found out there was a new soprano in the House, a Swedish, Christine Daaé. When I finally met her, such an angelic and pure beauty, I knew it must have been her."

"Meaning you actually never saw her?"

"Well… no, I didn't, but…" Erik stuttered, suddenly at a loss for arguments.

"Had it never occurred to you," Daroga pointed out, "that a girl barely out of conservatory, whose singing was mediocre at most before you taught her, couldn't have sung that aria so well? I think it would've taken a really well trained and experienced singer to impress such a musical genius as yourself."

"Are you saying…?"

"Erik, what if the person you heard that night wasn't Christine? What if it was la Carlotta?"

"No way!" Erik shook his head. "I heard la Carlotta sing 'Faust' before but never like that. She was just too confident to pull off a believable Marguerite. They cast her anyways, as usual, so I-"

Daroga rose a questioning brow.

"I pulled a nasty prank on her earlier that day," Erik finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That must have cut her confidence down."

Erik felt his head spin. He couldn't help but wonder, what if Daroga was right? What if it had been Carlotta? What would have happened if he'd set his mind of her instead of Christine? She was older and wiser than Christine. She certainly wouldn't have believed in angels or ghosts, but if he'd offered her guidance as nothing more than a man with some tricks up his sleeve, would she have accepted it? Would she have appreciated it? Would she have…

"Daroga, do you think Carlotta could have loved me?"

"I wouldn't assume that much - we both know you were an old creep back then; not much to love there - but I think she could've become your friend and kept you company for the little time you had left, stopping you from committing all those terrible things. Christine was your downfall. Carlotta could've been your saving grace."

Erik stared at his plate with vacant eyes. Was that why he was back? To set things right, not with Christine but with Carlotta?

"Do you believe in reincarnation Erik?" Daroga asked.

"You think this is what it is? Reincarnation?"

"Mademoiselle Giudicelli, Christine, Megan, now that Raoul boy and finally myself. We all seem to bear a striking resemblance to the people you used to know in the past. Say, we are them," Daroga theorized, dabbing at his chicken absentmindedly. "We all seem to have found our way in life, regardless of what happened to you, and we ultimately died feeling accomplished. We moved on and we were reborn, forgetting our past lives. You, on the other hand, must have died with a sense of loss and failure. That's why you stayed behind and became a ghost."

That actually made a lot of sense, Erik thought.

"You got stuck. You couldn't move on but you couldn't go back either, not without a mighty intervention of some sort, and that's where Mademoiselle Giudicelli comes in."

"Her love had brought me back."

"Something of the kind." Daroga sucked his teeth. "Say the two of you were meant to have some sort of relationship, perhaps just a friendly one, but still. Because of your mistake, that never happened, but once history repeated itself, as it often does, fate decided to give you a second shot at her."

"Shame I missed again."

"Did you now?"

Erik sighed tiredly. "I had once again assumed that it was Christine who'd sung the Jewel Song that night. You witnessed the consequences."

"Mademoiselle Giudicelli will be back," Daroga said with a knowing smile. "The two of you are meant to be together."

"How can you be so sure?"

"It's your destiny."

Was it?

Erik asked himself that question every day, as he sat motionlessly on top of the Grand Escalier, waiting. People passed him by, some of them stopping for a moment to take a selfie. Every time he saw a mane of dark hair or heard a word of Italian, his heart skipped a beat but it always turned out to be just another random tourist. Time moved on and Carlotta wasn't coming back.

The weekend came around again. The last tourists left, leaving the Grand Escalier eerily quiet.

"Chin up, Erik," Daroga said as he passed him by, going to change into his uniform before taking the night shift. "It's only been two weeks."

Two weeks? It felt like so much longer.

A clicking of heels on the marble floor caught Erik's attention. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at the woman standing in the hall below, her dark silhouette in stark contrast against the soft golden background of the Grand Escalier. She was looking back at him, lip quivering.

He ran down the steps, jumping two at a time until he was right in front of her.

"You came back," he murmured, staring into those beautiful dark eyes.

"Of course I did," Carlotta said, surprised. "Why would you think I wouldn't?"

"You disappeared without saying a word."

"I'm sorry about that," she dropped her gaze, "but I just needed some time to process. So I switched my phone off and went to my family's summer estate in Cinque Terre. I didn't tell anyone I was staying there. I just wanted to be alone for a while, you know, to think things through."

"I thought that seeing me for the monster I was you'd ran away from me."

Speaking, Erik touched his mask, dissolving any doubts Carlotta might have had as to what he meant.

She bit her lip nervously. "Erik, I've seen your face before."

"When?"

"The night of the masquerade, after we-"

"You unmasked me while I slept?!"

"No," she assured. "No. I just… Looking around your house I found a plaster cast of what I assumed had to be your own face. I won't deny that it was a bit of a shock at first."

Erik recalled Carlotta's strange mood the morning after the masquerade. So it was because she'd seen his face, or rather a plaster cast of it. He felt a deadweight rest on his chest as he realized what it meant.

"In all this time you knew what I looked like," he breathed out, "and yet you'd stayed with me."

Carlotta just smiled. Taking a step forward, she slipped a finger under Erik's mask and propped it on top of his head. She looked into his face with neither fear nor repulsion and then drew him in for a kiss. Something wet tickled her cheek and she realized he was crying.

There was a clapping sound that multiplied as more hands joined in. Pulling away, Erik looked around and saw half of the Opera House had gathered in around them. There was Marie and a few other seamstresses, Jerome with his boyfriend and some chorus girls, the management, the ladies from administration, Maestro Flaubert and a few members of the orchestra, Julianne along with some other singers, a bunch of stage adepts, Valentina with a few more members of the cleaning staff, even the chef and waiters from the restaurant, and finally Daroga.

Surrounded by the cheering crowd, Erik felt as if he were about to explode, not from anger but from a completely different feeling which, he guessed, had to be true happiness. Unable to contain his emotions, he grabbed Carlotta by the waist and spun her around. When he finally put her down, panting, she flashed him a serious look.

"Erik," she said, "I think it's time you leave the past behind and hit the big world out there. Quit the cellars and come live with me. I have acquaintances both here in France and in Italy. I could get you a real ID. You could become a proper citizen. All you have to do is agree to have a photo taken and I mean a photo of the real you, with no mask on. I know how you feel about your appearance so I'm not forcing you but I hope you say yes. Please, say yes. I can't stand seeing you spend another lifetime castaway anymore.

"Yes," Erik said without even thinking about it.

Carlotta stared at him in disbelief. "Yes?"

"For the love of God, yes! Whatever you ask me, yes!"

Several weeks later, Erik was staring at a blue plastic card bearing his own face and the name he'd chosen to go by. He never knew his father's name and he'd gladly forget his mother's so he went with Destler instead. It was as good a name as any other and he was already used to it. He wasn't sure when or even where he was born so he had declared: September 14th, 1981, Paris. The choice was anything but random. On September 14th, 2017, in the heart of Paris, a diva had sung a song. That day a ghost had died and man was born.

 **THE END**

 _Coming out into the real world, Erik became active on social media, quickly turning into an online celebrity with hundreds of thousands of followers. His popularity gained him some interesting collaborations, not only in the music department, which translated into a substantial income. When, after a long and successful career, Carlotta retired from the stage, he returned to Palais Garnier as the new Acting Manager._

 _Daroga kept his post as the Commander in Chief Guard. He and Erik met for drinks sometimes and he always bragged about the phans who never stopped raiding the Opera House. The former ghost asked him to be the best man at his wedding with Carlotta. Daroga obviously accepted._

 _Christine quit ballet, claiming it had never been her thing. She only did it because her mother made her. Instead, with some help from Erik, she pursued a singing career, albeit not in the operatic genre. She eventually married Raoul. Her mother wasn't too happy. Neither was his father. Neither of them cared._

 _Little Meg kept on dancing and eventually became an Etoile. She married an older Russian oligarch who conveniently died about a year later, leaving her a small fortune. She spent the for the rest of her life bathing in luxury like the empress she was supposed to be._

 _Antonio returned to_ La _Scala. He kept on being a womanizer until, in his fifties, he married and had a daughter. When his much younger wife found out he was cheating on her, she divorced him, leaving him completely broke._

 _Thibault underwent trial in which he was found guilty of multiple aggravated crimes and got convicted for 25 years in prison._

 **THE VERY END**

* * *

 **So, how did you guys like it? Please, if you happen to read this fanfic, be so kind and leave a review behind.**

 **I don't plan on writing a sequel to this story - it was aòwaus meant to be a stand-alone piece - but if you liked the way I portrayed the characters and have ideas for a continuation or some related short stores, like missing moments or something, go for it. I don't mind if you write and post them, as long as you credit me as the original source.**

 **ErikxCarlotta, having such high potential, is a surprisingly rare and underrated pairing. I wouldn't mind if someone gave it another shot. If people have a hard time imagining these two together, then I can only hope my work could inspire them.**


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